Winter's Kiss
by Mordreds Girl
Summary: "Miss Lydia. . .what if someone suggested to you that you might not be who you thought you were?" In which Lydia is more than she seems and things change.
1. Chapter 1

Okay so this basically started as two short drabbles and has since then ballooned, and ballooned.

This AU starts at "Muted" and will continue on from there, some of the change I've made will be minor, some will be massive, all will hopefully be good (relatively speaking). If I do not mention a scene assume it happened as canon.

As for pairings, the Marrish/ Pydian/ Pedan portions will be fairly slow build so you'll have to be patient for those.

And lastly THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU to Rantsofafangirl for betaing for me and just generally being awesome.

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The girl, Lydia –he'd overheard, but Jordan'll still ask her for it in a moment, hang up, takes a deep, but shaky breath, and starts to leave. Without thinking he reaches out and takes her wrist. "Wait," she turns, deer-startled, and her pulse under his fingers turns into a stampede of hoof-beats. Humanity clings to her like cobwebs and he resists the urge to brush it away. "This was shocking for both of us, let me buy you some coffee." He's seen and dealt death, both in his search for this girl and in service of his queen, but that many bodies…there's something senseless about that. And it will be a start to easing her back into her own world.

Some of her poise returns, he wonders how glorious she'll be in the throes of Winter, and she arches an eyebrow. "Why deputy? Shouldn't you be taking me to the department for questioning?"

Oh she's wonderful. He gives a rueful smile. "I think the Sheriff already knows what you're going to say, and half an hour won't make much difference." If Stilinski is more aware than Jordan thought him than maybe he can start being a little more honest with the man; iron poisoning's a horrible way to die and being stuck in a police cruiser for hours isn't helping. Though today it brought him to her, the end of his quest.

"Alright," she gives a little gracious incline of her head. "Beacon Brewers should be hitting the end of the after school rush."

He smiles, and hopes the queen will allow him to stay and guard this girl, for he finds he _wants_ to stay. "I'm Erwann," speaking his real name is strange, he's lived as Jordan Parrish for so long now that he doesn't feel like Erwann anymore, but she deserves to have the truth of him. In a bit of chivalry he hopes she'll keep allowing he raises her hand, turns it over, and kisses her pulse; breathing in her deathly-chilly scent.

Lydia looks a little stunned and his smile grows as he releases her. "Ly…Lydia." She blinks then shakes her hand, as if it's started to fall asleep. "I believe you promised me coffee deputy."

Almost unwillingly his smile turns rueful again. "Of course Lydia."

000

Beacon Brewers is just as empty as Lydia hoped it would be. Taking a steadying breath she strides towards the counter, resisting the urge to look behind her to see if the deputy, Erwann's far too personal at the moment, is following.

She quickly rattles off her order of a chai and lemon poppy seed scone to the barista, but before she can pull out her purse to pay –with the now typical grimace of distaste– the deputy speaks. "We're together and I've got the check."

Lydia turns, surprised to see the deputy isn't smiling like she'd dreaded; he gives her a little nod, "maybe find somewhere for us to sit?"

Like that would be hard, the shop hasn't magically filled up since their arrival. Pride smarting, but grateful none the less, she goes to one of the more out of the way corners and settling in a comfy arm chair.

Deputy, she's pretty sure there's no really polite way to ask him his last name though she'll probably hear it at the station –and, oh, what fun _that_ will be, joins her shortly, carrying her scone and a chocolate cheesecake brownie.

"I wouldn't have guessed you were a sweets person." She hopes he can't tell she's blushing, because she didn't mean to say that. Not that she's gleaned much, her usual instincts are near silent around him.

The smile he gives her as he hands her her scone is boyish and easygoing. "You and everyone at the station, though Stilinksi's told me he's both relieved and annoyed that I've already cleared out the doughnuts by the time he goes around for seconds."

Lydia can't help but laugh at that, Stiles, she's sure, would probably kiss this guy in thanks if he knew that. Breaking off a piece of her scone she bite it in half. The silence now between them is awkward in its comfortableness; they'd met what, an hour ago?, yet she feels like they've been acquaintances at the very least for far longer. Then again they _did _discover a hoard of dead bodies together. Being perfectly honest with herself it frightens her, she hadn't even felt this way around Peter when he was tricking her with his younger self.

The barista comes and drops off their drinks, giving her something else to fiddle with. Picking up her mug she relishes the warmth that seeps into her from it. Raising it to her face she feels a little braver, a barrier of sorts, and she finds she can speak again. "You scare me." . . .She hadn't meant to be _that _brave.

Just barely she can see a twitch of the deputy's lips. But he surprises her by not responding.

Now she really is blushing, how can she not be thinking before she speaks? "Sorry, I just. . .I don't like that I feel so comfortable around you." Impulsively she sips her chai, grimacing when it scalds her tongue.

Finally he speaks. "I'm sorry? Though most people would consider that a good thing. People tend to tell you more if they think they can trust you." He sips his own iced drink, which looks about as sweet as his brownie; not that sweet is _bad_, she just thinks you shouldn't consume that much sugar in one sitting, it's like watching a kid on Halloween. His expression turns a little more serious. "But there's something you should probably know."

Here they go, not even an hour in and they've gone through most of a relationship, with extra dead bodies just for kicks. "You're not a real deputy? You sparkle in the sun? Don't hold back deputy, give it to me straight." Her tone is as biting as she can make it, she appreciates that he's being upfront, but she finds she could do without for a change.

She's not sure whether she should be offended or amused by the fact that he laughs, though he soon returns to serious. "Miss Lydia. . .what if someone suggested to you that you might not be who you thought you were?"

Which means _he's_ suggesting she isn't who she thinks she is. She sets her mug down a bit more forcefully than she'd wanted to, her drink nearly sloshing over the rim. "I'd say they must be mistaken. The people who raised me are my birth parents, my dad took _pictures _of me _when they were at the hospital_. I'll trust evidence over baseless claims from someone I barely know anyday." She hopes he gets that they are _done_ with that conversation, she _likes _him and doesn't want it spoiled, not by something this. . .asinine. And how is this her life that the claim she may be living a lie regarding her family is asinine?

For a few moments he looks like a fish, mouth opening and closing numerous times, like he wants to speak but isn't sure _what_ to say. But then he just closes his mouth and takes another sip of his drink. Internally she sighs in relief. She just wants something uncomplicated for a change, and finds that she's willing to be willfully ignorant to have it.

Which is just _wrong_, she shouldn't want that at all. Willful ignorance gets you killed, especially in this town. With a soft sigh Lydia decides she's done with being nice; and she needs something to distract her from the turmoil inside her. "What's your name?" Not truly rude, but definitely blunt, something she's never really enjoyed, it's just not as. . .fun.

He raises an eyebrow. "Erwann."

Raising her mug back to her mouth she drinks to hide her annoyance. "Alright then, what's your last name?"

Carelessly he pops a chunk of brownie in his mouth. "Technically I don–"

"Don't talk with your mouth full!" She was sick and fucking tired of tête-a-têtes and just wanted some straight answers for once. And she was _not_ going to apologize for that outburst, he damn well deserved it for being so cagy and uncivilized.

Clearly surprised his mouth snaps shut, he chews, then swallows; all the while an embarrassed flush creeps up his neck, almost absentmindedly she wonders how far down it goes. "A" –he clears his throat– "Apologies Miss Lydia. And I don't have a last name."

Which earns him an incredulous raised eyebrow. "Really? So at the department you're just deputy no-name? You just can't exist in modern society without a last name."

He sips his drink as if to buy himself more time before finally, _finally_ giving her a straight answer. "The humans think I'm called Jordan Parrish. It's a. . .necessary chicanery."

At last, something impersonal to call him. And don't think she missed the inclusion of 'humans' in that statement. Luckily they were still alone, even the barista had abandoned her post at the counter. "So you're not human?"

Shock flickers across his face, before a rueful smile crosses his lips. "You got me."

Contemptuously she arches an eyebrow. "No, really? So all that keeping an open mind stuff was bullshit you were feeding me because?" She knows she's actually being rude now, and she's been raise better than this, but she's also just so tired of being led around by the nose.

Once again he's the one flushing, though if she had to guess it's more anger than embarrassment this time, possibly. "It's true. I can't lie Lydia, even if I wanted to, but I _can _hedge. And I believe I'm pretty damn open minded about a lot of things. Like not always following police procedure with witnesses."

She wonders if there's some sort of unspoken blushing war between them. But she also finds she wants to scream, just to get some of this pressure off of her –not a banshee sort of scream she thinks, just a plain old one. There's just so much going on that she doesn't understand yet. But she can comprehend being closed mouth about it, something seems to be targeting supernatural creatures and she'd be trying to fly under the radar too if she could.

"Then again, you're not human either."

She's insanely glad she hadn't been holding anything when he'd said that, otherwise she's sure she'd've dropped it. "What?"

"Lydia," she likes the way he straight up says her name, even if he's clearly a little exasperated. "I know you can't lie either."

That. . .how. . .she opens her mouth to tell him that he's wrong, but nothing comes out. "How. . .how do you know that?" It's something more recent than her banshee powers, sometime during the Nogitsune-fiasco she just found she couldn't speak lies anymore. And she hates how vulnerable that question sounds.

He sighs and scoots forward, offering his hands palms up to her. "Because Lydia. . .like I was kind of trying to say before, you're not who you think you are."

"Than who am I?" An open challenge, she knows if he believes it to be true he can speak it, but there has to be _something_ this belief is based on.

Parrish curls his fingers then opens them again, seemingly entreating her to take them, and she has to fight hard not to. "I think the baby girl in those pictures you mentioned earlier isn't you. I think one day, a week or so after her birth, a faerie came across her while trying to hide you where you could never be found and made a changeling of her, and you took her place." He gives a quick shake of his head. "It's not like in the stories where you can tell your child isn't yours because it looks like an old man or becomes ravening. Your parents were probably relieved you didn't cry or fuss as much, even if you did seem to need more contact."–"_You were always a quiet baby."_–"Other than that your parents wouldn't have noticed anything."

Her heart's been caught in a vise, that's the only explanation for why it hurts the way it does. She wants to pick up her mug, or her scone, but she finds she isn't hungry anymore. Instead she stares at his hands, still laying there. Digging her nails into her palms so she doesn't do anything stupid, she stands. "I want to go to the station now." She finds she'd rather get her statement taken a dozen times than continue this conversation.

Parrish gives a little frown. "Alright," he stands. "Don't worry it shouldn't take long."

That's not what she's worried about.

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next week: Lydia deals with failure and an old friend reappears.


	2. Chapter 2

Coda for "The Benefactor".

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Apparently what she has to be worried about is Scott _biting _a freshman, being forced to throw a party at the lake house, then finding out the first part of the deadpool. And then failing, failing, _failing_.

Again she puts the needle at the start of the record, filling the room with strange almost-static. But it's not right: it's not whispering anymore, it's just so much noise. Maybe she should disassemble the stereo at her feet and cut the scanning wire, make it a ghost box; maybe that will be the right kind of sounds. Maybe that would bring the whispers back.

But she can't make herself move, caught in a loop of insanity with the record player.

Gently, how can they be gentle when she's _failing them?_, Kira and Malia pull her away from the record player. Numbly and without resistance she lets them lead her downstairs and out, tucking her in the back seat like a child. It even feels like she's failed _Allison _on top of the the horrible feeling of being mocked by this bastard using Allison's name as a key.

The drive back to Beacon Hills and her house is a blur, not that she cares. Ending eventually up in her room. Malia leaves right away, uncomfortable with Lydia's apathy surely, but Kira lingers, fiddling with the hem of her jacket. "You'll call if you need anything right Lydia?"

She nods, more to get rid of Kira than agreement, she doesn't deserve concern. Finally she's alone and Lydia slumps to the floor and stares at the wall across from her, she doesn't care. She doesn't know how long she sits like that, long enough that the light in her room changes, long enough that she feels hungry.

Hungry, sure but she doesn't want to eat, what she wants is. . .someone to talk to. She almost gets up and dials Peter, the paper with his number still sits on her vanity, but no. Someone. . .someone uninvolved. She drags herself upright and standing and sluggishly makes her way to the wine fridge and pulls out three bottles of cheap, but good rosé. She finds herself staring at them for a few moments like they hold the secrets of the universe. Can she even get drunk now? Well she's going to damn well find out today.

Thus resolved, though it only masks the tension inside her, she leaves and walks down the street to a familiar house. After a little bit of bottle juggling she manages to free a hand and knocks on the door, nerves of a different sort crashing into her full force as she waits for an answer. It's been weeks since they last talked and she's a horrible friend for ignoring him, even if it is in favor of trying to stop people from dying, because she knows exactly how that feels and she never wants to put anyone through that _ever_. That train of thought derails when the door opens.

Danny stands on the other side of the threshold, looking surprised to see her. And he shouldn't, there was a time when she'd spent most of her week here and she could just walk in whenever she wanted; now, now she knocks. Yet another crushing disappointment in the life of Lydia Martin.

She takes a deep breath and decides to just be blunt about everything, maybe that will help mitigate her guilt, maybe it will make things more real for her. "What would you say if I told you I'm apparently a faerie who was kidnapped at birth and raised by humans?" Well, roundaboutly blunt, she wasn't _Stiles _to just straight up say anything. And it's the only way she can word it and actually say it, because it still feels like half a lie to her.

For a moment the urge to drop the bottles in her hands, run back to the house, grab all the petty cash and _leave _overtakes her. Just run away and never look back. But there would still be assassins after her, she's worth twenty million and that's nothing to stick your nose up at.

A twitch of a smile appears on Danny's face though, and it feels a little like the sun after a storm. "Well if you told me that I might tell you I'm basically Zuko, but with vastly superior social skills. And not really a prince."

The urge to laugh bubbles up inside her and she has to resist, she doesn't deserve to laugh. "I'm apparently a faerie who was kidnapped at birth and raised by humans."

"I'm basically Zuko, but with vastly superior social skill, and not really a prince."

Yet the laughter escapes her, and she can't describe the feeling that wells up in her when he joins in. She thinks it might be relief.

Mrs. Mahealani puts an end to their laughter. "Well aren't you going to invite Lydia in Danny?" She's standing at the doorway to the kitchen, toddler Katie on her hip, yet still managing to look vaguely disapproving.

Danny rolls his eyes while Lydia feels overcome with disappointment again. "Hey Lydia, you want to go up to my room, get drunk, and otherwise make poor life choices?" He leaves the door open and starts up the stairs.

Another laugh manages to escape her though. "It's exactly what I hoped would happen." Stepping in she closes the door behind her and follows Danny, managing a little wave, "hi Mrs. Mahealani, hi Katie."

"Dia! Dia!" Katie shrieks.

"Hello Lydia, do please try to restrain yourselves this time, and you're welcome to dinner if you stay that long." She turns her attention to her daughter. "Hush sweetheart."

"No promises mom," Danny calls down the stairs before closing his bedroom door behind them.

Though Lydia finds herself doubting they'll _actually _get drunk, apparently fae could stand a lot of alcohol from what she's managed to research in the little free time she's had in the past day; and it wasn't hard to suppose that fire powers would give you an accelerated metabolism.

His room hasn't changed much since the last time she saw it, though there are possibly more cables sticking out of his computer tower, and she finds herself feeling almost uncomfortable standing in the middle of it. "If you show me I'll give you a bottle to yourself." She wonders how low she's fallen that she's basically stooped to bribery with someone her age.

He huffs and gives her a look but dutifully snaps his fingers, a tiny tongue of red fire flaring above them. She wants to reach out and touch it but before she can he flicks his hand and the fire goes out. As promised she holds out a bottle of rosé for him

"Thanks," He goes over to his desk, and rummages around a little before grabbing his bottle opener. The 'pop' of the cork, while actually not that loud, sounds like gunshot to her ears. He tosses the opener to her as he loads up some music on his laptop. Easily she catches it, only opening her bottle after making sure the third is tucked away in his mini-fridge. Kicking off her shoes she makes herself comfortable on the bed before taking a swig, oh the manner irony but she finds herself not giving a shit at all, of her wine.

Once the music's at good background levels Danny joins her, taking a sip from his own bottle. "So spill."

She almost makes a quip about spilling perfectly good wine, but holds it back. And an hour and half a bottle of wine later she's crying and he knows everything that's happened to her since that fateful Sadie Hawkins dance. . .well everything except Peter. "And Parrish," she won't use his true name, she gets that's a special thing, and not a 'reconnecting with childhood friend' thing. "Is really cute," she doesn't mean for it to escape like that but the fact that someone's just listening has her feeling more emotionally shaky than usual, her failures at the lake house only compounding the issue.

"Then ask him out Dia, you've only got what? A month before your eighteenth? Unless you think he'll say no."

She shakes her head, first of all she doesn't feel like she's good enough for him and second. . .she takes another swig for courage. "He's got this whole chivalrous knight aura around him, and he'd probably say no because of that."

"So courtly love?"

A sigh escapes her and she lets herself lean against Danny relishing the physical comfort, she's usually really good at figuring out boys and men but Parrish _still _escapes her. "I don't want to call it that, because that makes me feel like I'm Guinevere and he's Lancelot and we know how shitty that turned out."

Danny arches an eyebrow. "Please, for the love of the Gods, tell me Jackson's not Arthur in that metaphor."

Some sound halfway between a laugh and a sob escapes her. "Fuck no! I don't think there is an Arthur." She thinks on it for a moment. "But I totally have my own Mordred." Stupid Peter, what's even more disturbing is the fact that that metaphor still works since Mordred and Guinevere had a. . ._thing_.

Melancholy overcomes her. "I don't want to talk about it anymore." She lays her head on his shoulder and lets herself breath in his smell: Armani and, now that she focuses on it, smoke. Which gives her the perfect topic change. "What about your fire deal? How come you never told anyone?" She could see how it might have come in handy a few times.

He shrugs. "It never came up?" She pinches his side and he chuckles. "Seriously though, we're not supposed to talk about it. It's basically the reason mom and dad relocated us here from Hawai'i though. Even if they haven't exactly explained all of that reason to me." He shrugs again. "I'll let my parents know you know though and you'll notice a change."

She gives a little burp, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. "Sorry, and alright." She takes another drink, and even though she knows she's not drunk she kinda feels like she is, which is exactly what she wants right now. "You wanna Skype Jackson?" She finds herself still missing him at odd moments, even though she would never be with him again if he came back.

She and Jackson haven't Skyped, or even talked, since November when she Skyped him to tell him Allison had died; lots of ugly crying had been involved and by the end they'd both been wrecks.

"It's," Danny glances at his clock. "After midnight over there, Jackson's an early riser sure, but I don't think he'd appreciate a one AM wakeup."

Rolling her eyes she finishes off her bottle. "You and your stupid sense."

Danny snorts and grabbing her bottle sets it and his aside. "You could stay the night? Wake up around midnight and chat with Jackson."

"It's a school night." God, she doesn't want to go. But she needs to at least pretend to be perfect even if she doesn't feel like it.

"Like that's ever stopped us before."

True, a yawn escapes her and she realizes she's a little tired. "Wanna nap first, make decisions later."

"Taskmistress." Danny pulls her a little closer so they're half-cuddling. "I'm glad you came over and tried to get me drunk."

A near-silent laugh escapes her. "Thank you for listening to me." She buries her face in his neck and and closes her eyes, gratefully letting sleep take her.

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Next week: Peter Hale (need I say more?)


	3. Chapter 3

"You called Lydia?" Part of Jordan is glad, the rest just. . ._is_, caught in that strange stillness that is Winter.

Stilinski looks nervous, like he's the one breaking the law, then again Jordan's pretty sure this isn't proper procedure. "Yeah."

"Because Meredith asked for her, or because of the other thing?" It's as good a time as any to try and suss out what the sheriff knows already.

The other man's expression turns a little. . .annoyed. "What other thing?"

Well maybe he didn't know as much as Jordan hoped. "The psychic thing?" Which isn't what she is at all, but wording it as a question means he can still get it out.

"You think Lydia's psychic?" Stilinski looks like he's reached the end of his credulity rope.

Since Jordan-Erwann can't say 'yes' and saying 'no' might give too much away, he redirects. "Do you?"

Stilinski sighs. "No. I just think Lydia's just. . .more. . .spiritually aware." He feels bad for the mortal, clearly toeing the line of normalcy and supernatural.

Erwann-Jordan's pretty sure he's dating himself, and in a not good way. "That's what a lot of psychics claimed to be able to do when Spiritualism started."

"And I used to claim I was a rational human being." The sheriff gestures at him. "Get your ass in here and shut the door."

Jordan does, being the close to Lydia again is a good-strange. The familiar pull of her bloodline is back, and he finds he's been missing it since their last encounter just last week. Without thinking he finds himself moving closer to her.

Lydia holds out her phone and he watches as Meredith takes it. "Meredith aren't you going to answer it?"

Meredith shifts closer to the edge of the couch and Jordan finds himself tensing in case of attack. He can't lose Lydia, not when he's just found here. "It's not ringing."

Lydia squats down and Jordan-Erwann has to hold his surprise back when a tendril of glamour leaks from her, does she even know what she's doing? "Meredith. You came to help me, remember?"

Meredith gives a tiny nod and a barely there smile. "You called me. I had to come."

The thread of glamour flickers away. "I called you?" It hurts him that Lydia doesn't know what she's doing and he wishes he could steal her away right then and there. Take her to her own people.

"You called, and I heard you."

He's not sure where this is going to go, but he should probably step in now. "Meredith, can I ask you a question?" _It never hurts to to be polite._ He kneels down so he and Lydia are level. Almost instantly Meredith straightens, putting herself 'above' them, and nods.

His glamour might be less. . .forceful than Lydia's, but it'll do; he only looses a bare filament of it though, he doesn't want to override the poor girl only make her more receptive to answering truthfully. "When you need help is there anyone you reach out to?" He hopes Lydia's paying attention to what he's doing and understanding, she needs to learn control. "Maybe someone you call?" He'll admit that none of the other banshee's he's ever met, not that there've been many of them, have latched onto _phones_.

"It depends. Different people for different things."

_Good_. "Then maybe one of them can help us? Is there a number _we _can call?" _Gentle, gentle_, entrance her too much and things could go horribly wrong horribly fast.

"Yes."

"Can you tell us?"

Meredith's practically glowing. "Yes."

Gently Lydia tugs her phone back.

"It's 2. 4. 3. 3. 6." Meredith beams.

A heartbeat of silence then: "Mer. We need a few more numbers." It's almost a shock to remember there are others here besides him, Lydia, and Meredith.

"No. That's the number." Meredith sounds sure enough that Jordan isn't going to doubt her.

"Phone numbers have ten digits." He _almost_ wants to turn and tell the shifter, shifters always move differently from other mortals, to be quiet.

"That's the number."

"Meredith." Lydia's voice cuts through everything, especially when backed by more glamour than is really necessary. "Phone numbers _always_ have ten digits."

Part of him wants to stop Lydia, it's not Meredith's fault she doesn't understand what she's doing. But then again, Lydia doesn't know what she's doing either, _why didn't I find you sooner?_ What would she be like if she hadn't been kidnapped, or if he had found her sooner? Would this all still be happening?

Meredith shakes her head. "That's the number."

Which is when Stilinski steps in. "I think we're done here."

Lydia stands, her glamour filling the room and making it heavy. "No. There has to be more." She whirls back around to Meredith. "What's the rest of it Meredith? Concentrate!"

_Now_ Erwann-Jordan has to act. Without thinking he throws out some of his own glamour to try and shatter her influence and doing more harm to Meredith. But it's too little, too late.

"That's the number. _That's the number._"

Stilinski, bless his soul, reaches out to try and comfort Meredith. "Alright sweetheart we–"

"_That's the number!_"

_Everyone_ recoils a little at that, and before Erwann-Jordan finds himself grabbing Lydia before she can do anything worse. Lydia freezes and Jordan releases her, going over to Meredith. "Come on Meredith, lets get you back to Eichen."

Stilinski gives a deft nod and the three of them leave Lydia and the shifter girl alone. _Please don't do anything foolish Lydia._

000

She almost falls out of her seat when Er-Parrish opens the door and sticks his head in. Instinct has her yanking the computer screen down so he can't see it. "I. . .I wanted to see if you're both alright? And to ask if you wanted a ride home."

"I'm fine, we're fine. And we can make our own ways home." It comes out a little more snapishly than she'd intended, but she feels right now she can be a little snapish. Before now she's only half-thought, and mostly jokingly, about him apparently being a faerie, but now, somehow seeing his name on the deadpool makes it _real_.

It doesn't seem to bother him much thought and a faint smile twitches at his lips. "Alright, but let me know if you change your mind."

She gives a tiny nod as he leaves. Once she's sure he's gone she lifts her screen back up, _Jordan Parrish_ sitting there almost like it's laughing at her. But not his true name, whoever the Benefactor is they know Parrish isn't human, but somehow she knows, like someone whispered it to her, that they don't know _what_ he is. Otherwise she thinks his price would be higher, and she pities whichever assassin decides to take him.

It hadn't hurt as much to see Aiden's name staring back at her like it had with Allison. Despite their relationship he didn't mean much to her; and she wonders what she's doing wrong to never have experienced a relationship like Allison had explained to her almost a year ago now. _That_ is what makes her ache, _Allison I wish you were here_.

"You okay?" Malia's voice behind her makes her jump. "You smell off."

"Sweetheart don't _do_ that." At least Malia looks contrite when Lydia turns around.

"Sorry."

Feeling a little bad for her Lydia sighs. "And I'm just. . .stressed out." Which is about as close to a lie as she can get. She rubs the bridge of her nose, after the day she's had she deserves a deep tissue massage, and a nice long bubble bath; maybe some tea and chocolate as well.

Closing her laptop completely she stands. "But thanks for asking." Part of her winces as a 'thank you' escapes her, for people it might mean nothing, but for fae it's a lot. "Now let's go, I don't think there's anything more we can do." Not until she figures out the next cypher key anyways.

Dropping Malia off at home, which always feels a little strange because Lydia finds herself somehow always expecting her home to be the loft, Lydia takes a deep breath and heads home herself. First things first, a wonderful smelling bath. And hope that nothing else comes up tonight, otherwise she's liable to do something horrible.

She'd half expected Peter to be waiting for her at her house, but he still manages to surprise her by actually doing it. A sigh leaves her as she walks past him to her front door and unlocks it. "You and Malia still aren't on the list, if that's what you're about to ask."

Almost unnoticeably, but she notices because his _soul_ has been inside her head, he relaxes.

Lydia doesn't say anything when she realizes he's following her in; they've come to a truce –though cease-fire might be a more accurate term– of sorts since she went in Stiles' mind to free him. They still snapped and sassed each other, but it doesn't feel as. . .deadly as before. In fact she likes how he keeps her on her toes better than almost everything else at the moment, him and Parrish.

"You seem tense Lydia."

She arches an eyebrow as they head into the kitchen; absently she's glad her mom's away for the night. "Really Peter? I hadn't noticed." At least not being able to lie didn't cover sarcasm, hurrah.

A chuckle escapes him. "I could help you out if you'd like."

Part of her stutters and stops at that. Because of _course_ he offers. She doesn't answer right away, instead focusing on making tea. At least Peter doesn't press her for an answer, just lets her think.

Their teas, she hadn't even thought before making him a cup, Assam, habit and manners taking the reins in her distracted state, had finished steeping by the time she answers. "Alright." She knows the rest of the pack would call her crazy for trusting him like this, but she does. Like she knows he won't do anything she doesn't explicitly ask for.

He smiles as she sets his mug in front of him. "Well, take a seat then."

Despite knowing he wouldn't hurt her, she still feels a little trepidation as she sits; even though it's far too warm she keeps her mug in her hands so she can hold onto something.

Faintly she hears him walk up behind her. His warm, almost too hot, hands set themselves on her shoulders, then his thumbs begin to rub the base of her neck and. . .oh. Her head lolls as a happy quiet moan comes out of her mouth.

She can feel smugness radiate from him at the sound, but at least he doesn't let up on the neck rub. Eventually he moves from her neck to her shoulders; she doesn't even bother to hold back her sounds of pleasure as he leeches out more of the tension that's been dragging on her than she thought he could.

The end comes sooner than she would have liked. "I really needed that." It's easier to not say 'thank you' to Peter than anyone else, their relationship just doesn't work like that.

_Now_, though, he chuckles. "Anytime you'd like Lydia, it's my pleasure."

Feeling a little boneless she sips her tea and just lets herself be.

He takes the seat next to hers, thoughtfully turning her seat so she faced him. "Hello."

A huff of laughter erupts from her, making ripples in her tea. "Hi." Despite everything that's happened between them, this strange peace she feels whenever he's around is just too nice to pass up.

"And how was your day?" She totally needs mindnumbingly mundane at the moment.

"Same old, same old. Got angry at a fellow banshee, translated another third of the deadpool, had your daughter hang over me like an overeager puppy. You?"

Peter smirks. "The usual. Stopped a strange wolf from dying a horrible wolfsbane induced death. Wondered again where Derek thought we'd be getting the money to pay Braeden. Thinking up new ways to permanently kill Kate."

She almost snorts out her tea at that. Silence falls between them as they both drink. If she could have more evenings like this she might actually get a good nights sleep in.

Like that she feels _tired_. With a sleepy sigh she sets her mug down, blinking when Peter picks it up and sets hers and his in the sink. Returning to her he scoops her up, eliciting a squawk of surprise, before carrying her up to her room.

Setting her down he starts to try and 'help' her undress, he gets as far as removing her cardigan when, with a roll of her eyes that feels disturbingly fond, she bats his hands away. "Really Peter?"

He grins. "Just being as helpful and soliciting as I can Lydia." His grin turns leery. "Anyways, it's nothing I haven't seen before."

A flush creeps across her at that. "Thank you for that reminder Peter." She gestures for him to turn around, but he doesn't; instead his hands rise up again to play with the hem of her shirt.

"You know what I want Lydia, and what I think of you. Is either really so bad?"

Her flush remains, but for an altogether different reason. She's known he wanted her since that stupid spark-fire comment and knew that for her he would be more than willing to be unselfish; though she doubts he'll ever admit it verbally. And it's something she knows would astound everyone else. Looking at him now something in her gives up the ghost; she damn well deserves something for herself, something unrelated to the pack, and Parrish and his talk of fae. _Hers._

"Take off your shirts, shoes, socks, and belt."

The gleam in Peter's eyes as he does so somehow calms and reassures her, he'll let her have all the control she needs, as many times as she needs.

Reaching out she placed her hand on the part of his chest that was faintly discolored. Murmur-faint she catches echoes of pain and heat.

"It's where Derek had to burn the wolfsbane out of me."

She doesn't glance up at his face, instead stepping closer and, sliding her hand to his hip to support herself, leans in, gently laying a kiss there. Soon she steps away and gives him a light push. "Lie down on the bed."

He does, smugness returning to his face as he props himself up on his elbows. Deciding it isn't worth chastising him over she reaches down and slowly begins pulling up the hem of her shirt, giving him a little tease before removing it completely and tossing it aside, revealing her lacy sea-foam green bra.

Peters eyes darken noticeably. "Pretty."

Her earlier flush returns as she steps out of her shoes, propping one leg against Peter's knees as she beings sliding down a stocking; knowingly giving him a peepshow of her matching underwear. She divests herself of her second stocking faster than the first, and she unzips her skirt even faster.

Uncaring of her almost-nudity she saunters over to Peter and crawls over him on the bed, before settling down on the noticeable bulge of his pants. "My, what a big cock you have." She knows it's something out a laughably bad porno, but she couldn't help herself.

Peter throws his head back and _laughs_. Almost unwillingly she finds herself rooted to the spot at the sound; and she catches herself wondering when the last time he laughed like that was.

She jumps a little when his hands settle on her waist, their positions shifting as he sits completely upright. "Oh Lydia, you never cease to amaze."

Then he kisses her. With reckless abandon she throws her entire self into that kiss. Subtly demanding he do the same, unwilling to accept anything less. And he does, fangs gently nipping at her lips, his tongue tangling and toying with hers, and just hard enough. There's a moment of recoil when she realizes Peter's. . ._purring_? But she soon returns; something to wonder about later.

Finally she pulls away, Peter tries to follow her forward but she pushes him back. "Lie down." Obediently, and oh, isn't that a rush, he does. Leaning right she manages to pull open her bedside drawer and pulls out a condom.

With her free hand she starts undoing his pants while raising up to her knees so she can start tugging them down. Peter obliges her by canting his hips up, her lips twitch when she sees he's wearing boxers –she likes them because they're easier to wear when you steal them– and the fact that they're tented.

She sets the condom on his chest before raking her nails down his stomach. "That's quite the problem you have there."

Peter huffs, "I don't know if I'd call it a problem Lydia, maybe more of a miscommunication." The hands on her hips yank her back down so he can grind into her.

Granted, it's very nice, but. . . "Peter," she infuses her voice with about as much menace as she can muster. "If you're going to jump ahead then I'm going to have to do something about it." Though she has no idea what except for denial.

But apparently the warning is enough and he stops, loosening his grip but not letting go. She rises back up onto her knees and sets about divesting him of his boxers. Once they're gone she scoots back a little to admire the view as it were. He's not the biggest she's ever had, but he's definitely not lacking; a little above average.

She scoops up the condom, with a brief side trip to pinch and pluck at his nipples, and opens it. Scooting back even further, nearly falling off the bed if she's not careful, she starts putting the condom on him; leaning down so her mouth can follow the path of her hands. On the whole she's not a big fan of giving blowjobs, but she'll admit they're a fun way to put on condoms.

From the groan Peter's giving he probably agrees.

Once it's fully on she pulls away, shucks off her underwear and bra, then returns to her previous position. Leaning down again, though this time to kiss him, she positions herself and sinks down. Pulling away from his mouth to let loose a thin and reedy moan, oh she needed this.

Peter grunts, his hands once more tightening on her hips. Resting her own hands on his chest she swivels her hips and he _snarls_, just barely she can feel his claws prickle her skin, eliciting another quiet moan from her.

A grin appears on his face and his claws dig in a little deeper. "I hope you let me take the reins next time sweetheart, because I know _exactly_ what I'd do to you."

She clenches around him tightly, because _Jesus, fuck_, she can't tell if that's a threat or not and that shouldn't be so hot. "I don't know Mr. Big Bad Wolf, I think you're all bluster."

His eyes flash, his claws pierce her skin, and his hips jerk up; a gasp escapes her. "Well why don't we find out?"

And even though she's still on top she's quickly losing control and as Peter slams up into her she finds she's fine with that.

Her orgasm comes to a surprise, ripping a whine from her throat. "Peter!"

His eyes flash again and he's sitting upright, swallowing the rest of her sounds in a kiss. His own orgasm happens soon after and they collapse back onto her bed in a tired heap. Almost lazily he begins nibbling on her neck, she giggles.

She doesn't know how long they both lay there, long past everything getting uncomfortable, before finally she rouses herself to shift, lifting herself off Peter and letting herself collapse to the side of him. Sleep starts tugging at her and she closes her eyes as Peter gets up. Just barely she can hear him in her bathroom and she wonders if he's going to leave or stay. Previous experience says leave, but something else says stay.

So when he returns to her room she finds herself somehow half-asleep and yet hyper-aware of him. Hearing the rustle of clothes something in her gives a sad but expectant sigh. Only to soon be subverted when Peter scoops her up and she finds herself being tucked into the curve of him under her covers.

Warmth seeps into her, and she finds herself relaxing into it. She hasn't felt truly warm for a while now, all her dreams have been cold, full of things she thinks she should understand, yet doesn't. "Good night Lydia." It's barely a puff against her ear, but it feels like so much more.

She barely manages to mutter something that might be 'good night' before sleep claims her.

00000

Told you Pydia was coming first. *heheh*.

Next week: Lots of things involving Jordan, Meredith, and Peter.


	4. Chapter 4

BTW, this, so far, is the longest chapter. (And thanks Saiyajin-Neko for pointing out my screwup)

00000

Lydia's alarm wakes he the next morning and she feels surprisingly. . .refreshed. Not 100% sure, but better than usual. A warm arm pulls her closer as her alarm gets cut off. Like that last night comes back and she finds herself blushing as she opens her eyes.

Peter's own blue ones are staring down on her with more fondness than she thought he had. "Morning Lydia."

Lydia blinks at him. "Morning." She pushes herself upright, using her blankets to cover herself. Wrapping the blanket around herself she stands and begins walking to her bathroom.

"Would you like me to stay? Or shall I go?" She turns back to see Peter lounging against her headboard looking for all the world like he belongs there.

"I. . ." _Him pushing her against the wall of her shower_. "I, I think you should go. I've got school." She tries to hide her own disappointment.

Peter's expression never changes, but she senses he's not happy with her choice. "Alright." He stands, and Lydia finds herself fighting not to look down. "Well you know how to reach me should you want to." He walks over to her, leans down, and gives her a light kiss on the lips before pulling away and heading to his clothes.

She hurries into her bathroom to cover her surprise at his actions. And by the time she gets out of the shower he's gone. There's a small sorrow in her chest at that, even though she's the one who said he should go. But she brushes it aside in favor of getting dressed and made up.

Her phone rings before she steps out of her room; she gives an exasperated roll of her eyes when she sees Stiles' name on ID. "Morning."

"Hey, want to be truants and skip school?" Only Stiles.

Mentally she debates, she's far enough ahead that she could miss a day or two, but actually doing it? "Why?"

Faintly she hears humming on the other end, but eventually Stiles speaks. "I was thinking we could tell Parrish about him being a wanted man. It only seems fair, since, you know, we actually know him."

He has a point, and she exhales gustily. "Fine. Be here in five minutes."

000

Jordan blinks in surprise when Stiles and Lydia approach the front desk, because he's pretty sure the both of them should be in school. He puts his hand on Michaelson's shoulder. "I'll deal with them."

Michaelson rolls his eyes. "Better you than me Parrish."

Which he feels is a little unfair, from what he's heard about Stiles' exploits they've never seemed _that_ bad. Jordan puts on his best smile. "Hi, what can I help you with?" He won't tear into them about school, yet, for all he knows there's a really good reason for their skipping.

Stiles runs his heads through his hair. "Yeah, uh, we were hoping we could talk to my dad."

Little alarm bells go off in Jordan's head. "Alright, follow me." Stiles probably knows his way around the department, but hell if he's going to let them go around unescorted. "He's out, but he should be back in the hour. You gonna wait in his office?"

Lydia and Stiles glance around for a moment, before turning back to him. "Actually," Stiles begins, and Jordan just knows this is going to be bad. "We wanted to talk to you."

Finally Lydia speaks. "Privately."

Jordan escorts them to the sheriff's office. "Alright what?" If they wanted to talk to him it's got to be important.

Stiles pulls out a folded piece of paper and holds it out to him.

He takes it and stares at it for a few moments, not really understanding it. . .then. "This is a hit list." It's only half an accusation.

At least Stiles looks uncomfortable. "Yeah. But we're calling it a deadpool. Recognize any of the names on it?"

"Yeah, your dad had me run most of them through the system last night, but nothing popped up."

Stiles turns to Lydia, who looks tense. "Show him." Dread settles further in Jordan's chest.

She reaches out and takes the paper from him, only to turn it over. Revealing gibberish and. . .

He stands and starts to pace because standing still isn't an option. "That's, that's. . .not good. What's the number?" He's pretty sure he already knows, but asking doesn't hurt.

Lydia looks about as discomforted as he feels. "That's how much you're worth."

Jordan, and staring at his human name he _is_ Jordan wholly and completely, doesn't feel fear at seeing his name on a kill list. . .however. . . "I'm worth only five dollars?"

Stiles, too clever and sharp for his own good Stiles, shakes his head and holds his hand up fingers splayed. "Five million."

. . .Oh, even with inflation he's pretty sure that's more than the last time someone put a bounty on him. Now he feels a little worried. "I only make forty thousand a year," when in doubt deadpan. "Maybe I should kill myself." Again, wouldn't be the first time.

"Do you know why someone would want you dead?"

He has to squash the urge to kiss Lydia at her near perfect wording. "No," he shakes his head. For the past decade he's been careful, he hasn't even been horribly wounded since. . .1990? Longer possibly.

He isn't even worried if someone _does_ manage to kill him, he'll just come back; though he can still remember the fear of death in his first few years of growth, back when his queen would use almost any excuse to give someone a true death so they could be laid in the graveyard. Though he's grateful Violet's behind bars already, recovering from decapitation's the worst.

And he's moved twice since he started his search for Lydia. Beacon Hills had been a whim at the time, though the sheer amount of power here had been a huge draw –enough to open a Way to the Mound if he knew how– even if it was a little. . .gray.

Stiles seems to deflate a little. "Alright." He turns. "You coming Lydia?"

She meets Jordan's eyes. "In a moment."

Stiles shrugs and leaves, through the window Jordan can see the boy head over to deputy Rodgers and start chatting with her.

"Are you alright?" Concern is an interesting thing on Lydia.

But it's appreciated. "I'm fine. This isn't the first time someone's wanted me dead." He decides to not try and elaborate further.

Lydia seems to brace herself for something, then speaks. "Look we didn't just come here to tell you you're on the deadpool."

Oh, boy. "What else?"

She crosses her arms, fingers tapping out arhythms on her biceps. "We've been using cypher keys to translate the list. But we don't have the last one for the final third. So we need help."

He stands up a little straighter, willing to help, but the earlier dread comes back. "From who?" He has to ask, even though he's sure he's not going to like the answer.

At least Lydia looks a little ashamed. "Meredith."

He wants to help Lydia so much, because she means a lot to him, but when he signed up for this job –with much, much glamouring and falsified paperwork– he'd sword to serve and protect _everyone. _And while he's sure oaths taken hundreds of years ago supersede that, he has to draw the line somewhere.

Meredith is, despite her banshee powers, for all intents and purposes human and can't take the same abuse Lydia can. "No. The last time you saw her you almost gave her a nervous breakdown." He walks to the door and opens it, hopefully signifying their discussion was over.

But of course Lydia seems to be taking Stiles lessons. "Almost."

Jordan sighs, knowing this is a horrible idea, but also knowing that at the very least Lydia, let alone Stiles, won't give up until this happens. "Fine." Lydia brightens. "But I get to pull the plug if I think you're going to far."

Her shoulders slump a little and he's glad he's added that caveat, otherwise who knows what she'd get up to. "Fine."

They collect Stiles, who grins as he realizes what they're doing, then file out to the cruiser; Jordan's not letting either out of his sight for any longer than necessary.

The ride to Eichen is subdued, he can hear Lydia and Stiles talking quietly but he doesn't want to listen in, so instead focuses on the radio.

Once at Eichen house he approaches the orderly at the desk, giving him a little smile and a brief flare of glamour. "Hi. We'd like to take to Meredith Walker, it's important."

The orderly nods and grabs the ring of keys on the desk next to him. "If you all could sign in, then follow me."

Jordan always forgets how claustrophobic Eichen is, pressing in and making you feel low. Not exactly the most conducive of places to heal minds in. Finally they reach the right room and he watches as the orderly tries to find the right key to opening Meredith's room. _Of course we have to deal with the forgetful one_.

The narrow hallway grows a little tense and Stiles speak. "Not him."

Footsteps approach and soon he's being run into by Brunski. "What the hell is going on here?"

Brunski yanks the keys away from the orderly and Jordan almost feels bad for the other man. "What are we suddenly a bed and breakfast? You don't open the door just because some idiot flashes a badge at you."

The sudden image of Brunski being impaled on spikes is much more enjoyable than it should be. "We need to talk to Meredith Walker, now. It pertains to a murder investigation."

Of course Brunski doesn't back down. "You, you can talk to her all you want _deputy. _But those two," he points at Stiles, "especially _that_ one can't. No matter what you want."

"They're witnesses in the investigation. I wouldn't have brought them with me if it weren't absolutely. . ." He has to hunt for the right word to make it truthful. "Crucial." Out of the corner of his eye he can see Stiles grimacing and Lydia looking more uncomfortable by the second.

"Okay deputy." Brunski steps into Jordan's personal space, trying to make _him _uncomfortable; though Jordan's half tempted to tell the poor mortal it's not going to work, he's met more frightening _grass_. "You bring me a court order, _then_ we can talk about letting those two bozos in."

For a brief moment Jordan thinks that the glare Lydia sends Brunski will actually kill the man, which while making _this_worlds easier won't fair them well in the long run, but it's only a glare.

But Brunski's dismissing Jordan –stupid mortal never turn your back on the unknown– in favor of playing bruiser to Stiles. "As for you, _Mr._ Stilinski, why don't you come back with him, with payment in full." Stiles flinches and Brunski pounces. "That's right, your daddy might be sheriff, but he's still late on paying the bills. I'd hate to see what happens when something like that goes public, those government jobs aren't as stable as you might think."

_Not even crows would peck your eyes out, bastard_. "But they do come in handy when you need a favor." Brunski turns to him and Jordan has to hold back his vicious smile. _Gotcha_. "Like how Eureka PD helped you get home when you blew over .1 on a breathalyzer last month."

Stiles goes from defeated to smug in less than a second.

Brunksi's all smiles after that. "Alright." The hand holding the keys smacks into Stiles shoulder. "I've nothing against a little quid pro quo. Take all the time you need. Just make sure to lock up on your way out."

As Brunski walks down the hall Jordan takes the keys from Stiles, who slaps him on the shoulder. Jordan has to pretend to stumble a little. "I like you." Which doesn't mean much to Jordan, though it is accompanied by a twitch of a smile from Lydia. "We're keeping you."

Jordan has to bite back a '_no _you_ won't_' as he selects the right key, 'b_ut Lydia might_.' The urge to forswear his queen and swear to Lydia is stronger than he thought it would be, and he's not sure if that's good or bad. He opens the door. And they look in to see Meredith already facing the door, clearly waiting for them. "You're a little late."

Stiles just saunters in like there's nothing strange about being expected by a girl in an asylum, but Lydia's a little more hesitant. Still, she's the one who speaks first. "Hi Meredith. We need your help."

Meredith shivers a little and shakes her head. "I can't. . .I can't tell you."

Lydia and Stiles take the unoccupied bed across from Meredith while Jordan stays by the door, feeling a little like a bouncer. "What do you mean Meredith?" The concern in Lydia's voice is reassuring to Jordan.

"Yeah." Stiles' hands start moving as if to emphasize his words. "Just tell us the third key, in words, numbers, Morse code. Whatever you want."

"I can't." Meredith sounds forlorn enough that for a moment Jordan wants to wrap her up and take her somewhere where they'll really look after her.

"Then why did you give us the second key?" Lydia's starting to sound frustrated again.

Meredith hunches in on herself a little. "I wanted to help. I. . .I just wanted to help."

"That's great, and we really appreciated it. But we need you to help again, alright?" Impatience creeps into Lydia voice. "Just give us the third cypher key."

Eyes darting, looking everywhere but at the three of them Meredith wrings her hands together. "I, can't. Things are different now. I can't."

"Why not?" Now Stiles sounds impatient too.

Deciding that's enough of that Jordan speaks. "Guys, take a few breaths, go easy on her." At least they look a little chastised.

"I'm sorry." Meredith stares at her hands now. "I, can't. He. . .he doesn't want me to." The gaze she gives Stiles and Lydia is imploring, and Jordan finds himself bracing for the worst.

"He?" Jordan can't tell if Stiles is talking to himself or to the room. "Who's he?"

If Jordan found himself wondering about Stiles' question, Lydia's is as clear as water. "Meredith, who doesn't want you to tell us the third cypher key?" A little burst of glamour accompanies the question and Jordan hopes they don't get a repeat of yesterday.

But Meredith gives. "The Benefactor."

Stiles and Lydia perk up at that. "Good. Progress. Can you give us a name?" Stiles' fingers clench and unclench his jeans.

"No, he'll get mad, he'll. . ."

Standing Lydia crosses her arms. "Please Meredith. Just give us the name and we'll go."

Even that doesn't sway Meredith. "No."

Lydia starts pacing, which Jordan thinks is better than directing all her frustration at Meredith. "Just tell us his name."

Once again Meredith shakes her head.

Now Stiles is the one ganging up on her. "Okay, you're shaking your head. Does that mean you don't know his name or you're not gonna tell us?" Jordan seriously hopes it's former, because then they can leave this poor girl be.

"I can't, I can't, I can't help anymore." Meredith's starting to sound panicky and for the umpteenth time Jordan-Erwann finds himself tensing and preparing for everything to explode.

Lydia turns on Meredith. "How do you know about him?" More glamour creeps into Lydia's voice, an insistent press against Meredith. Meredith trembles under it.

This is enough. Jordan-Erwann takes a step towards her. "Lydia, Stiles. You _need _to _stop_."

"Meredith." Lydia seems set on ignoring him. "A _lot_ of people are going to die if you don't tell us." Even more glamour, filling up the room like it did last night.

Meredith's crumbling beneath it. "I can't. . .I don't. . ."

Even Stiles is looking a little worried.

Erwann-Jordan takes a step closer, hoping he can still reach Meredith. "Meredith, it's alright." He's hesitant to use glamour when she's already under so much pressure, even if it might help. "You're gonna be okay."

Meredith's really agitated now, her hands fluttering as she keeps repeating. "I can't. . .I don't. . ."

Another step. "Meredith."

But it's too late. "I. . .I don't _know!_"

Lydia recoils into Stiles, her hand flying up to cover her ear. And in the ensuing silence Erwann sees blood dripping from said ear.

For a brief moment the urge to hurt Meredith is a sun in his chest, and he has to think _very _cold thoughts to stop himself from walking up to her and do something he'll regret later. She _didn't mean to_ hurt Lydia, the poor mortal girl just wants peace.

In lieu of hurting Meredith he can make Lydia safe. "Let's go, it's clear she doesn't know anything more." Stiles doesn't seem happy about it, but Lydia takes Jordan's hand and lets him lead her out. "Are you alright Lydia?"

When she looks at him he has to resist the desire to shiver, because it's clear that Lydia isn't all there at the moment and _gods_ he wants to find a way to pull her back.

Then Stiles is there taking her from him, _mustn't hurt Stiles either_, and ushering her out.

Jordan-Erwann follows, his own mind tangling. He knows Lydia believes him now, but she needs to ask _questions_; so he can teach her how to use her powers without something like this happening. Or maybe he just needs to sit her down when they're not worrying about their lives and _talk_ to her, but he hopes she asks first.

Silently they get into Jordan's cruiser. Silently they drive back to the department. Silently –he wants to speak but the words keep getting caught up in his throat– he watches as Stiles guides Lydia back to his Jeep and they leave.

Jordan goes back into the station and wishes he could drink on the job.

000

"So what's the common thread? Allison and Aiden are both dead."

Lydia resists the urge to throw her computer across the room, she can't afford a new one. "But we've already tried every dead person we knew. And if you didn't notice, there are a lot." She's fairly certain that statistically they're outliers when it comes to people near them who have died.

"I know, it's just. . ." She can see Stiles pacing in the corner of her eye, sees it when he turns to her. "You okay?"

_God_, why don't people ask her that more often? "Meredith's the only other banshee I've ever met," her hands curl and she can feel her nails dig into her palms. "And I think I drove her into insanity." She feels more guilty about not feeling guilty about that then she feels guilty about that.

Stiles steps closer. "Lydia," and closer. "It wasn't your fault."

She wants to slam that so intelligent yet stupid head of his into his crime board. _Of fucking course_, it's her fault. If she hadn't asked Meredith any of those questions Meredith wouldn't have freaked out like she did. Parrish being there is probably the only reason things aren't worse.

"I was there too." Yeah, sure, but he wasn't a fae-banshee who didn't know the first thing about herself. "And you're probably not the only. . ." He drifts off.

She almost asks him what's wrong, but he starts off on a new thought first. "Hold on. Banshee's _predict_ death, right?" But he doesn't give her a chance to answer. "So what if the key isn't someone who's died yet. . ."

". . .but will soon." Dread and euphoria make her stomach queasy. But she takes a few breaths and closes her eyes as she feels Stiles stand behind her. Keeping her eyes closed she moves her hands over the keyboard letting them hover. The only sounds in the room are Stiles' breathing and the hum of her laptop's fan; at least at first. Soon though the almost-whispering returns, and even though she has no idea what any of the voices are saying she lets her fingers start typing. Trusting that at least subconsciously she knows what to do.

When she finally opens her eyes again the third key sits in the password box, accusingly. _Derek_. She hits enter and the last of the pool decodes. Her eyes skim down the list and. . . "Call Parrish," it rings like a bell in her throat. "We need to call Parrish." Maybe she should get his number herself so she doesn't have to go through someone like Stiles to talk to him.

Stiles doesn't know Parrish's private number, but he does give her his extension at the sheriff's department. The phone rings a few times before he answers. "This is deputy Jordan Parrish, how can I help you?"

"Parrish, it's Lydia." For a second her nails dig into her arm from nerves. "Look there's something we need to tell you about Meredith."

Silence on the other end of the line. "Er–Parrish?" Nearly speaking his true name is a fluttering shock, why now?

"Lydia. . .Meredith's dead."

Her heart turns rocky. "What? What do you mean dead?" Are they already too late?

Parrish sighs. "The orderlies at Eichen found her an hour ago in her room, she'd hanged herself." Somehow that's even worse than being too late. "I'm sorry." Those words of his feel like a lie, but they can't be because he spoke them.

Hands shaking she hangs up and drops her phone like it's suddenly burst into flames. It's. . .it's too much. She feels grateful when Stiles pulls her into a hug.

She just needs someone to hold her with no expectations right now.

Stiles finally lets her leave, she knows he's worried but there's such a thing as taking platonic comfort too far. But she only gets as far as her car, before she has to stop and just breath. But only for a second, shakily her hands pick up her phone typing in a number.

As the phone rings she wonders if she should be doing this, she knows Peter's thoughts are confused when it comes to Malia, he isn't anything to her which Lydia's come to realize unsettles him. But she kind of promised without promising.

"Lydia, my night's just gotten better."

And in a moment it's going to get worse. "Malia's on the list."

Her ear fills with the dial tone. Worried she calls him back, but he doesn't answer. Tossing her phone onto the passenger seat she grips her steering wheel so hard her hands hurt. She will _not _cry.

She. . .she needs to leave or Stiles is liable to come out and ask why she's still in his driveway. She'll start crying if he does. With a ragged deep breath she starts her car and pulls out. Resisting the habit to just drive home she turns down random streets and deliberately gets lost.

_Stop!_ A voice shouts in her mind. Her foot steps on the brake before that she even registers that the voice is not her own. She sits there, in the middle of the road in a residential area she doesn't think she's ever been in before at, she glances at her dashboard clock, 8 PM. Why the fuck is she here?

Almost dreading what she'll find she gets out of her car and looks around. Nothing. The street's about as generic boring Americana as any other street. All but one of the houses have their porch lights on, the house that doesn't has lights shining faintly through curtains. _There_, now it's whisper-soft, but again a voice not her own.

She desperately wishes Banshee powers had off switches, or just switches in general. But she goes up to the house and tentatively knocks on the door.

Faintly she hears someone moving around, then the door opens.

And there stands Parrish, Jordan, Erwann. Concern fills his face when he realizes its her, and fuck.

Lydia starts crying.

Warm arms pull her into an embrace and she buries her face in his shirt, greedily inhaling the smells of leather, fabric softener, and something cold and chilly that's somehow the most comforting of all. One arm stays around her waist, while the other shifts up a little so his hand can rub circles on her back. "Hey, it's okay. What's wrong?"

The most horrible sounding laugh leaves her, saying everything's okay _then_ asking someone what's wrong is. . .wrong. And anyways, she can't find it in her to talk just yet, instead letting herself cling to him and just let all her pain and sadness out. For the past few days it's felt like everyone's been counting on her to decode the deadpool and even though they've got all of it now the crushing weight of expectation still hasn't left her. She feels herself being moved, but can't find it in her to care anymore than that.

Faintly, like she's been wrapped in layers of cotton, she hears Jordan mutter something. And then, clear as day. "Just do what you have to do Lydia. Let it out."

Then the floodgates really do open. Or to be more accurate, the screamgates. Scream after scream after scream tear their way out of her throat; not banshee screams, just plain old screams of sadness? Anger? Whatever emotion's behind them she lets out so many that she fears she won't be able to talk tomorrow. It's just not fucking fair. The only other banshee Lydia's ever known is _dead_ now. She's alone again, and still so _lost_. She wants to understand herself so badly, wants to understand this power she has.

Eventually the screams end, but then the words come. Everything comes spilling out, even Peter and her's relationship –something she'd sworn never to tell anyone, let alone an officer of the law. When she finishes she feels washed out, her flood of emotion's passed and she's now left dealing with the aftermath. Unwillingly, because not even fucking Peter has brought her this sort of catharsis, she pulls away from Erwann. Wiping her tears away with her sweater sleeve.

"Here." Blinking she stares at the handkerchief he's offering her before taking it. She hasn't cried like that since Allison. She wonders how much of a mess she is this time.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to do that." It's true, she'd been allowed to ugly cry with Jackson because he'd been crying too –with the unspoken agreement between them to never talk about it again, before then it'd been Stiles, who'd had the decency to lie.

Erwann's smile is small, yes, but real. "I don't mind at all Lydia, I'd like to think it means you trust me."

She does, though it surprises her to realize it. Without thinking she leans in and kisses him. She's not sure what she means by it, if she means anything at all, but it feels right.

But just as quickly he's gone, somehow now on the other side of the room. "Do you want something to drink?" He asks so politely that something in her crumbles and she finds herself slumping into the couch she's apparently sitting on.

"Hot water and honey." Her voice is more cracked and raw than it was before and she's dreading tomorrow like no. . .tomorrow. She hears him moving around in the kitchen and as she debates the merits of just vanishing now and saving herself further heartbreak she looks around.

She's in his living room, it's sparsely decorated, with little to no personal touches. She finds herself wondering what those personal touches would be as she stands. Wrapping her arms around herself to try and ward off her inner chill she quietly makes her way to the front door. Impulse has her flicking on his porch light as she opens the door, stepping out onto his porch she's embarrassed to realize her car's still in the middle of the road and she hopes no one's called the sheriff about it. Slowly she closes the door behind her. Then before she can change her mind she races to her car.

Music floods through her speakers as she turns the car on and with more force than she needs she turns her radio off. In the silence she hears a door open.

Foolishly she looks over to Jordan's house, but the moment she sees him standing in that pool of light she jerks her gaze away. She'll start crying again if she looks at him any longer. Putting her car in gear she pushes the gas and tears down the street, uncaring if she gets in trouble for speeding or whatever.

She needs to get home and reconstruct the walls around her heart. Liking Erwann too much is a mistake.

000

Jordan-Erwann, there's something horrible and strange about being caught between these two identities of his, stands on his porch and watches as Lydia drives down his street like she's running from something.

Which considering what just happened she probably is. Not wanting to attract the attention of nosy neighbors he goes back inside. Morosely staring at the still steaming mug of water and honey he'd gotten for her. He's half-tempted to drink it himself, but he knows it'll only strengthen the lingering sweetness still on his lips from Lydia's kiss.

_She kissed him_. The part of him that is Jordan, dear human Jordan, keeps telling him she's too young, she doesn't know what she wants; the Erwann part of him, who remembers times when Lydia would have already been married with two children at her age, points out she's already in a relationship. Kissing him didn't mean anything, just a seeking of comfort from someone who cared.

Shakily he dumps the mug down the sink. _Keep telling yourself that boy_. Because he liked it when he shouldn't have. Taking a deep breath he stares out the window into the night. "Dear gods and Winter, I need help." Or at least some direction.

000

The sewer stinks, even more so than usual. Stinks of cat and the strange dusty, not-dry scent of Berserkers.

He's only a few feet away before Kate finally notices him, leaping away and pointing a shotgun at him. He clicks his tongue. "Really Kate? You should have heard me coming a lot sooner, it's almost like you have no idea what you're doing." Though part of him is saying the same thing about himself; Derek, Malia and Lydia might all be on the deadpool but that doesn't mean he should go and try to make a deal with the woman who murdered his family.

She pumps the shotgun, an action even _he_ knows is pointless, and glares. "What, come to try and finish the job Peter?"

Well yes, but not yet and anyways why would he tell her one way or the other? "And if I am?"

The Berserkers behind her step forward, and while normally the sane response would be running the other way he's feeling reckless and driven. He watches as Kate's skin darkens and shifts. "I think you'll find I'm a lot harder to kill this time."

Nonchalantly he shoves his hands into his pockets and strolls forwards, glad he's managed to get his self-control back to what it had been before the fire –_her fault, lunge and tear and make it _stick, his wolf snarls and snaps but can't do much beyond that. "Well lucky you I'm not here to kill you. I want to make a deal."

Kate snarls, showing off some impressive teeth. "Really? Well that's big of you." She doesn't, however, lower the gun. On the other hand the Berserkers return to their previous position so he'll take it as a win. "And what would this deal entail."

"Well you're clearly in need of a few lessons in self control and anger management, and I'm quite good at those if I do say so myself." He stops right in front of her. "I'll teach you."

Narrowing her eyes she looks up at him. "And what do you want in return?"

_You dead, my family safe, Lydia safe, my money. _"Your help in finding and killing the Benefactor." That done, at least most of the rest should hopefully follow.

"Feeling altruistic are we?" She mock pouts. "Did Peter Hale's heart grow three sizes while I was gone? Gained a conscience? I would have thought you'd like the Benefactor cleaning house as it were."

He will not roll his eyes at her asinine comments. His heart's the same as always, and he _does_ have a conscious –it's called his wolf. And as for the Benefactor. . .he leans in. "Not when it's _my_ money it they're using."

He doesn't have to look at her face to know she's smiling. "Ah, there it is. The real reason you're talking to me." One of her hands rests itself on his chest, and it takes all his willpower not to rip it off, literally. "Give it to me straight Pete. It's all about power for you isn't it?"

"Of course," the lie flows like water, it's clear she doesn't have the control to tell otherwise. "Isn't it what I've always wanted?" Though if she believes that than she's a bigger fool than he'd thought. He's got power aplenty thanks to the tie still between him and Lydia, an endless well to draw from when he feels so inclined. Then again, he doesn't think she could care about her family if you paid her to.

00000

Next week: Weaponized part 1, the return of Danny and Jordan has a neat trick.


	5. Chapter 5

Lydia awakes the next morning, and the morning after that feeling like shit. Unwillingly she sits upright and knows, come hell or high water, she's, for the third time this week, not going to school, even if she has to destroy her throat further in a shouting match with her mom; missing a day fine, but most of the week? Unacceptable. Fumbling she reaches for her phone and dials Danny, deciding she's tired of moping alone.

He answers with a sleepy, but annoyed grumble. "Dia, what?"

"You're skipping school," she manages to get out, even if it is whisper quiet. "When my mom leaves head over, and bring the good chocolate." Not giving him time to protest she hangs up.

Just in time for mom to knock on her door. "Lydia, you awake? You're going to be late for school if you don't leave soon."

Regretting it even as she does it she crawls out of bed, pulling her comforter around her to at least keep herself a little warm. Shuffling over to her door she opens it, hoping she looks the mess she feels.

Apparently she does because her mom's on her in a second. "Oh Lydia, why aren't you dressed?"

_Because I used a girl and possibly drove her to suicide, and the only thing I feel guilty about is the fact that I couldn't get more out of her. Which makes me what? _–"Cute but narcissistic girls. . ."– _I kissed Jordan Parrish and he broke my heart. But I'm in a relationship with a psychotic werewolf who lived in my head for five weeks and who might have just done something incredibly stupid to try and save the daughter who couldn't care less about him. _When did her life get so fucked up? "I'm not going to school again mom, I still feel terrible. I was at Danny's a few days ago and, even though he was sick, we shared a cup like idiots and I might have caught his cold," it's a good lie because it actually happened once –though now that she thinks about it _how_ she'd managed to get sick with a human infection is beyond her. Then her throat decides reminds her what she put it through the other night, _ow_.

Her mom's hand feels her forehead. "Well it doesn't feel like you have a fever or anything, but. . ."–her mom sighs–"If you feel that you're really sick you can stay home again and I'll let the principal know."

Something in Lydia relaxes, _perfect._ "Okay."

Mom leans in and kisses her forehead, and for a moment Lydia feels disconnected: this woman who raised her isn't her mother, she doesn't even know Lydia's not her real daughter. Lydia thinks she'd be crying if her eyes didn't feel so dry. "Go back to bed and get some more sleep alright? I call you sometime around noon to see how you're doing."

Lydia gives her best meek nod, and closing the door shuffles over to her window to peer down at the driveway. When her mom's car pulls out, Lydia leaves her room and heads down to the kitchen. She tries to reach one of mom's tea pots, but they're a shelf too high. Biting back annoyance she grabs the step stool and steps up. Setting the pot on the counter she shoves the step stool out of the way and grabs the electric kettle, filing it all the way with water before turning it on. While that comes to a boil she slices up a lemon, before putting most of those slices and about half a cup of honey in the pot.

As she waits for her water she wonders where Danny is, he should have knocked or come in by now. She gets distracted by the kettle going off and quickly pours the water into the pot. It takes a little bit of maneuvering but she manages to keep her grip on her comforter and grab the pot, making her way to the den.

She thinks she'll let Danny choose what they watch when he gets here, just as long as he picks something mindnumbing and asinine. She's digging up the remotes when the doorbell rings.

Still shuffling she goes to the front door and opens it. Danny looks a little flushed. "Sorry I'm late. I had to make a supermarket run for stuff." He offers up a plastic bag as if in proof.

With more speed than she thought herself capable of at the moment she snatches the bag and peers inside. Chocolate, chocolate, and Coffee Caramel Buzz? "I love you."

Danny smiles as he pulls her into a hug. "You sounded like you needed it." He fishes the ice cream out. "I'll go put this in the freezer while you take the chocolate and get comfortable alright?"

"Kay," once again she does the sick, even though she's not physically sick, shuffle back to the den and turns the TV on.

When Danny enters a little while later he curls right up next to her and takes the remote when she offers it. "What's the order of the day?"

"Bad TV and not giving a fuck about the outside world."

"Sounds perfect." He starts flipping channels.

After a quiet debate they settle on the Iron Chef America marathon the Food Network seems to be doing. And for the next two hours there's blissful silence, no expectations, chocolate, and soothing lemon-honey water.

But somewhere in hour three she just can't hold it back anymore. "I kissed Parrish the other day."

Danny tenses a little next to her in interest. "And?"

Pointedly she keeps her focus on Alton Brown explaining the mystery ingredient. "He held still for a moment, then he all but ran for the other side of the room and asked me if I wanted something to drink, sounding for all the world like nothing had just happened. . .I left before he could come back."

"Oh Dia." She goes when he tugs her onto his lap.

She buries her face in his shirt, "and I think I drove someone to suicide." It seems she'd still had a few tears still in her, and they leak out now dampening Danny's shirt.

He tenses for a different reason this time. "What do you mean Lydia?"

The last week, God, has it only been a week?, crawls out of her throat, every shameful bit save Peter. She doesn't think Danny would understand that.

By the end she feels like she did the day before last, and Danny's running a hand through her hair soothingly. "I don't know about it being your fault, but at the very least you exacerbated a bad situation. Not that you could have known that going in. That second time though just shouldn't have happened."

She opens her mouth to protest but Danny gives her a flat look. "I know, I know, race to stop people from dying. That's not really a good excuses to bother someone who was clearly mentally unstable, especially considering you got the third key without her help."

Flushing Lydia stares down at her lap and her twisting hands. Like she didn't already feel bad enough. "You don't have to be such a douchenozzle about it. And that's not helping me feel bad about me driving her to it."

"I know," she feels him lay a peck on her forehead. "As for the guilt thing, I'd chalk that up to your kind of lack of humanity."

Lydia couldn't help but arch an eyebrow. "You're willing to excuse my lack of guilt, but not what I did."

Danny shrugs. "You can't help what you are, but you can help what you do with what you are."

Deciding to let that mull in her brain she doesn't answer and turns her attention back to the TV. An hour or so later she gets up and goes to the kitchen dropping off the now empty tea pot and grabbing the ice cream and two spoons.

Back in the den she offers one to Danny like the peace offering it is. Which he thankfully accepts. Demolishing the pint gets them silently through another hour and a half.

Very faintly Lydia can hear her phone ringing, and apparently Danny can hear it too. "You gonna get that?"

"Danny," her voice's improved a little, but overall still sounds like it went through a garbage disposal. "Not giving a fuck about the outside world right now, remember?"

His lips twitch in a smile. "Alright, just curious." They settle back into their marathon.

However despite her wishes her phone keeps ringing, and she wishes she'd turned it off after calling Danny. Sure ignoring it's highly selfish of her, but she feels she's got the right to ignore the newest supernatural disaster to mourn a girl who had the misfortune of being born different.

But by the end of the episode it finally stops ringing and she finds herself vacillating between wondering who called and why, and not caring. She resolves to wonder later, right now is for herself.

Then someone knocks on the door.

She and Danny share a look before she heaves a sigh and grudgingly gets up. It just isn't fair, the universe is supposed to listen to _her_ for a change. Dread settles in her chest as she turns the doorknob and pulls the door open.

Parrish stands on her porch. The kiss, and it's aftermath, flicker through her mind in full technicolor. She almost says 'you' accusingly but that's inexorably tied to Peter, and at the moment worrying about Peter on top of everything is really is just too much. "What do you want?" She's in no mood for niceties at the moment.

"We need you at the school. Something's happened." That fact that he's being such a professional make her feel like a horrible, selfish teenager; granted she is.

Biting back a sigh she straightens as best she can. "Let me get dressed," she is _not_ going in her pajamas. There's a second of awkwardness, and Lydia feels something in her just give up. "You might as well come in and wait." She steps aside a little so he can pass.

Once he's inside she shuts the door and goes back to the den, giving Danny a small smile. "So, apparently the outside world got serious."

Danny stands. "Do what you gotta do, I'll start cleaning up."

Her smile grows a little more. "Thanks."

Up in her room she grabs clothes based more on their comfort than their fashion, and only puts on her bare minimum of make up. When she gets back downstairs both Danny and Parrish are waiting for her. Wordlessly she gestures for Parrish to lead the way out, while giving Danny a hug.

Though Danny surprises her by following them out. At her arched eyebrow he gives a brief, but cheeky smile. "What? Did you think I was going to sit idly by while you had all the fun?"

"Chaos and death, so much fun." Climbing into the back of a police cruiser is definitely an interesting experience.

There's a minute of strange silence as Parrish starts the car and starts driving towards the school. But then she can't hold the questions back. "So what's going on this time?"

Through the grill she can barely see Parrish shrug. "Overall we're not sure. But a teacher called the CDC a hour or so ago." Ice crawls down her spine, at least you could kill a ravening werewolf. "They're acting like it's smallpox."

"Which was eradicated in 1979, and considering there haven't been any break ins at any WHO centers recently is highly unlikely." Parrish gives Danny a strange look through the rearview mirror.

"Anyway. . .But the sheriff thinks it might be something _else_."

"Something supernatural?" Dancing around it just seems silly since they're all in the know.

Parrish, once again via rearview mirror –maybe she should be taking notes, arches an eyebrow as if questioning her choice of words.

She rolls her eyes and huffs. "Danny knows everything Parrish, so being coy is pointless."

"Alright, yes, something supernatural. And we can't get in contact with anyone inside since they turned the school into a dead zone."

"We're all going to learn Morse code. Super hearing has to be good for _something_ other than eavesdropping." Seriously, they need to establish alternate means of communication.

Danny sniggers. "Any other way to get into the school?"

Luckily for Parrish they've just hit a red light, apparently getting them to the school isn't urgent enough to warrant the siren, and he can turn around and give Danny the full force of his incredulous look. "You seriously want to go _into_ a quarantine?"

"It's not like I can get sick." He does his finger snap fire trick.

"Except for colds." Lydia decides to remind.

Danny's smug expression turns a little sheepish. "I forgot about that. But trust me, I'm not likely catch whatever's going around. And it'd be good to find out what's happening inside."

"Well there is the Hale vault, but I don't know if any of us could actually get into it."

She can tell Parrish is annoyed, he has to focus on the road again, from the set of his shoulders. "Hale vault?"

Even though he can't see it Lydia shrugs anyways. "Yep. Apparently they decided under what was soon to be a high school was the perfect place to store their esoteric items."

Danny shrugs. "It makes sense, there's a nexus of telluric currents there. It's a good place to keep mystical things."

What is her life that she could have _serious_ conversations about 'telluric currents' and secret family vaults? "Alright fine, putting it all aside we still have no way of getting into the vault. None of us have claws, and for all we know you've got to be a Hale to open it. Because that's the sort of day I'm having." Briefly she wonders if she called Peter if he'd actually pick up, she'd tried yesterday but he hadn't, she isn't going to wonder about _why_.

"Well first things first, _where_ exactly is the vault?" Lydia finds herself surprised by Parrish's question, until she realizes it's kind of an important one. The school will be crawling with deputies and CDC people, sneaking in will be a bitch if they're in the wrong place.

"It's under the Beacon Hills High sign." And really of all the places, why there?

Faintly she hears Jordan tap a rhythm out on the steering wheel. "That's on the west side of the school right?"

"Yeah," Danny answers. "Next to the stairs down to the quad and breezeway."

"Well lucky for us, the CDC's mostly on the east side of the school, though they obviously have cordons up at all the exit/entrances. I'm sure the sheriff can keep everyone away long enough for us to get in."

It's not much of a plan, but it's easier to adapt if things go horribly wrong. A minute or so later they arrive at the school, which is indeed swarming with CDC officials and deputies. The sheriff looks disturbingly relieved to see them all. "Oh good, you found her." He crossed his arms. "Lydia, are you getting anything?"

Lydia finds she doesn't like being thought of like that. "No, why would I?" She crosses her own arms.

His shoulders slump. "Sorry, I'd just hoped. . ."

Well she understands _that_, "if I suddenly have the urge to scream I'll let you know Sheriff." But so far whatever powers/controls/whatever you want to call it her banshee. . .whatevers hasn't acted up since Meredith, at least she _thinks_ that was her banshee senses.

Parrish provides a wonderful distraction. "Anything changed since I left?"

The sheriff shakes his head. "No, the CDC's still confused as to what this might be, they haven't released an official statement yet, but from what I've overheard this isn't like any disease they've ever come across before."

Panic crawls up Lydia's throat and she wants to scream for a completely different reason. A familiar hand wraps around her forearm, and it grows warm. "Lydia," Danny's voice surprises her a little, distracting her from Parrish's and the Sheriff's conversation. "Take a deep breath," there's a strange soothing crackle to his tone.

Shakily she does so, Danny's grip on her arm loosens a little but it, and the warmth, remains. "Now come on, is this really the worst thing that's happened to you?"

Lydia shakes her head, but her _mom's_ in there, and so are most of the people she's ever known; the thought of all of them _dying_ is terrifying. She pulls her arm out of Danny's grasp, only to replace it with her hand, he gives her a smile and squeezes. "I'm not gonna say everything'll be alright, because, you know, that's not really possible, but we'll do the best with what happens yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So Stilinski can get us ten minutes." Parrish steps back over to them, and she doesn't even feel annoyed that he kind of ruined the moment. "Meaning we should probably hurry."

They hurry over to the other side of school, the sign's abandoned, though as they pass the stairs down she can see two CDC agents lurking about the entrance down there. At the sign she points out the strange fourfold knot, strange in that it doesn't look like any other fourfold knot she's ever seen before. "Other than the fact this is what opens it I have no idea about anything else."

Parrish looks at it for a few moments. "You said 'claws' right?"

Lydia shrugs. "Yeah."

"I may have something then," she and Danny watch as Parrish goes over to a nearby oak. He does a little hand waving and some things she can't quite see she she's sure a fairly impressive up close, then from what she can tell he digs his fingers _into_ the tree.

When he comes back he grinningly shows off his fingers. They might be made out of wood, but they're clearly claws. "Cool," Lydia's not quite sure how to describe Danny's tone.

Parrish steps up to the knot on the sign and stares at it. "Do you know what I'm supposed to do here?"

Lydia shrugs. "It was already open when I got here last time."

He sighs and rolls his shoulders. "The old fashioned way then." Raising his left hand he runs his hands over the carving, clearly looking for whatever mechanism works it. He tries inserting the faux-claws in a few places, but none seem to work. Finally though he tries some strange finger pattern.

Which clearly fits, but nothing else happens; he then surprises her by starting to mutter in what sounds like a Brythonic language, not that she can tell anything about it other than that.

She feels Danny sidle up next to her. "You're a lying liar who lies." His tone is teasing though.

Crossing her arms she gives him a side look. "And why is that?"

"You said he was cute, not adorably handsome."

"Well you can't have him," somehow she manages to make her tone both prim and teasing.

Danny huffs in laughter. "No shit. And anyways I'm not really feeling the whole dating thing right now, ya know."

Which brings down the lighthearted mood they'd somehow managed, but that's alright. "How's Ethan?" She regrets the word the moment they leave her mouth.

Out of the corner of her eye she can see him shrug. "I don't really know. I got a postcard from him last week from Alaska, but he didn't actually _write_ anything on it. Idiot."

Any further conversation's withheld when Parrish makes a sound of triumph and, focusing, Lydia watches as the sign slides back a little. She and Danny rejoin him.

They stare down at the stairwell leading to the vault proper, it doesn't look any less like a gaping maw eager to swallow them whole this time than it did last time. Danny looks more impressed than he probably should be. "Huh." He takes the first few steps before turning to her. "Well?"

She rolls her eyes and moves to follow him, only to be stopped by Parrish, his hand gently around her wrist. A brief moment of deja vu flickers through her; she wonders if he'll kiss her pulse again or if he'll try to distance himself. "What?" It doesn't come out as annoyed as she wants it to.

"Lydia. . .I think you should put on one of the suits."

"Why? I thought I didn't need one."

His shoulders slump a little and for a second she feels his thumb rub her pulse. "You might, if the infection is supernatural in origin it still might be able to affect you."

She finds herself glaring at him. "If it is supernatural then it seems to me that a suit would be doubly useless."

The brush of his thumb against her pulse returns. "But intent and meaning are a lot in this world, the suit's made to keep stuff out and so stuff stays out. It's a symbol."

She's not sure if arguing more or putting on the suit will take more time out of what needs to be done and decides she might as well play it safe. "Alright."

As Jordan. . .as _Parrish_ jogs off to get her a suit she turns back to Danny who's looking up at her with an expectant expression. She narrows her eyes. "What?"

Danny can't pull off nonchalant to save his life. "Nothing 'Dia. But you're right, he's totally a literary knight." She gets the distinction because real historical knights were assholes. "Maybe you should ask him for a good luck kiss." At least he doesn't waggle his eyebrows.

She snorts. "Nope." She's not exactly _giving up_ on Parrish, but she's. . .ignoring it for now. Luckily for her Parrish returns, one of those garish yellow suits in his arms. She arches an eyebrow as he holds it out. "How on Earth did you get that?"

His cheeks pinken a little. "I may or may not have glamoured it out the agents down there. Don't worry they'll be fine if a little dazed."

"Glamoured?" She takes the suit, insanely glad now that she'd dressed for comfort in the plainest shirt she owned and _jeans,_ heels and a short skirt would have been disastrous.

This time her question gets a shrug. "It's a. . .persuasion of sorts, all fae can do it. It makes people more susceptible to us, make them want to do things for us." Another shrug. "I can explain it better when we've got more time."

Zipping herself up is a lot harder than it looks, especially considering her sense of touch's limited with the rubberized suit. Giving up she turns around. "Can you zip this for me? And I'm holding you to that explaining conversation Jordan."

Fingers hesitate at the zipper for a heartbeat, but then do up the rest in a single motion. "There." She turns back around to thank him, but he surprises her by cupping his hands around her face, which again feels strange through the plastic faceplate. "Be safe please, and. . .try to think of yourself first." He lets go and hoists himself up onto the sign. "I'll stay here until this closes and make sure no one notices."

She can't really form the words to respond because his. . .advice? Benediction?, leaves her feeling a little strange. So she just nods and descends the steps into the vault.

00000

Next week: Weaponized pt 2: A special guest, Danny, and things get really different.


	6. Chapter 6

So since I haven't done it for a while: thanks RantsofaFangirl for betaing, and a special thanks to Saiyajin-Neko, 'cause even if I didn't really go with your suggested idea for how to resolve this chapter you still helped big time.

00000

Descending the stairs she doesn't see Danny until she's passed the lintel and entered the vault proper; he's off to the left, perusing the boxes. "Come on, we don't really have much time."

He turns around and she sees him instantly bite his lip to keep from laughing. "You look ridiculous."

Lydia attempts a sneer, though it's probably not as effective as she's hopes. "I'm in a hazmat suit Danny, they're not exactly the height of fashion." She walks past him and towards what, in the dim light at least, looks like another knot in the wall; she sends a prayer up that they don't need claws to use it from this side. As she passes the safe she finds she can't look at it, there's a vague menace to it and she _knows_ that it's incomplete somehow; all the Hale knots are, they're missing something she just doesn't know what and she finds she wants to know.

Danny joins her in front of what's clearly a 'secret' door. "You push it."

"No you push it," it makes her sound like a five year old.

"I'll pay you five dollars to push it." Apparently she's not the only five year old.

She lets herself laugh, "doofus. Fine, I'll push it; but your five dollars better come in bills." Reaching up, why does everyone else have to be so goddamn tall?, she pushes the symbol and feels a rush of relief when it depresses, the door sliding aside to reveal a tall metal shelving unit and through it what looks like one of the basement halls. The two of them share a look, then get to work shoving aside the shelves. Danny does most of the work, then again out of the two of them he's the most fit, and eventually the shelves have been pushed away enough that they can get through. Taking a deep breath, mostly to try and calm down, she steps into the hall, Danny following.

In the hall Danny instantly turns around, inspecting the doorway. "What are you doing?"

"What you want to leave it open and let the infection possibly get out?" Well what he puts it like _that_. His hands start tracing the lintel, clearly searching for a lever of some sort. Something clicks and he has to jump back to prevent his fingers from getting smashed.

Soon all that's before them is a wall with the Hale knot in the middle of a triskalion, a knot Lydia's willing to beat Danny's five dollars on needs claws to open from this side. "So what now?"

Danny's voice makes Lydia jump for some reason and she gives herself a little shake, zoning out could be disastrous for them right now. "Now we need to find Scott and the others and see what they know, and try and find out what and how this all started." She squares her shoulders. "So lets get up to the main floor first and we'll talk and see if Scott or someone else with superhearing hear us."

"Alright," he points left, "this way'll be quicker." Silently they walk down the hall and up the stairs. When they get into the school proper there's a tenseness in the air, one that Lydia swears she can taste –burnt toast being covered up with too much jam, and for a brief moment all she can think about is that night Peter trapped them all in the school.

Taking a few steps forward Danny looks around. "Well it looks like we're alone here, how do we want to get their attention."

"Sco-ott, Ma-lia, Li-am, Ki-ra," she doesn't shout, because that might draw the wrong sort of attention, and hopes they'll hear. As plans go it's probably not her best, though she thinks it's better than some of the ideas Scott and Stiles have had, and at least hers, at the moment, doesn't have her and Danny splitting up to find everyone.

Lydia instinctively reaches for her phone to check the time, but all she comes up against is the suit, closing her eyes she sighs. "Can you tell me when it's been five minutes?"

"Yeah," Danny pulls out his own phone; and she hopes at least the stopwatch isn't affected by the dead zone. Apparently it isn't, though it feels like it's been half an hour before Danny tells her it's been five.

"Okay, let's go to the next hall and try there."

They try that hallway, and the next with no luck at all; unless you counted narrowly missing CDC agents twice. Danny's clearly given up and has started looking through classroom windows. "What're you looking for?"

He doesn't answer as he peers through the window of another abandoned classroom, according to what she'd overheard from wandering CDC agents they were congregating most of the not sick people in the gym and the sick in the cafeteria, "we're looking for here." He opens the door and steps in, closing it after her.

He walks over to the phone on the desk and she finds herself making annoyed sounds. "You know the phones are dead right Danny? CDC put up a dead zone."

The flat look Danny gave her is a little unsettling. "Yeah, but it's a _wireless_ dead zone." He picks up the receiver and holds it out. She steps up to it and blinks when she hears a dialtone. "Landlines are hardwired, it's a lot harder to cut them off. A fact that has apparently escaped most of the people in the school." He starts doing something with the little white buttons the phone usually rests on.

"Alright, but how is this going to help us find Scott? And what on Earth are you doing?"

"It's called switch hooking, and it's basically a really cool party trick these days if you've got the right kind of phone. And in a school that's currently in a dead zone don't you think someone making a phone call would be something worth noticing?"

Fair point. "Sure, if Scott or Malia are paying enough attention to their surroundings, or if Liam's actually gotten control of his senses. And I don't even know if Kira has superhearing. Or if any of them aren't flat out sick alongside most of the school." Danny shrugs. "Who are you calling anyways?"

His lips twitch in a grin. "Jackson." He stops his button pushing, sorry _switch hooking_.

Oh boy. "Why are you calling Jackson?" Out of everyone it seems out of the blue.

Danny shrugs again. "Why not? For all we know Jackson's dulcet tones will catch Scott's attention faster than ours would, considering they haven't talked since last year."

Lydia kind of has to laugh at that, because it feels ridiculously true.

He taps the desk, clearly waiting for the call to connect; he visibly perks up when it does. "Hey Jackson, hold on a sec I'm gonna put you on speaker phone."

There's a faint crackling sound from the speaker and then: "so why the hell are you calling me during school? Not that talking to you isn't fun Danny."

She and Danny share a look, London hasn't changed Jackson at all.

"Well Lydia and I actually had to sneak into school 'cause the CDC's closed off the whole area because everyone mysteriously started getting sick."

"What the fuck did McCall do now?" You could cut Jackson's annoyance with a knife. "And Lydia's there?"

She resists the urge to wave. "Hi Jackson. And we're pretty sure it has nothing to do with Scott, though other than that we've go no idea."

"We were hoping you could help us find Scott and everyone else so we can hopefully get to the bottom of it."

Even though they can't see him she knows Jackson's rolling his eyes. "God, I'm surprised you've all managed to survive this long without me."

"Glad to know London hasn't crippled your _healthy_ sense of self-worth." Danny somehow says with a smile. "And I was hoping you could howl for us, so far we haven't been able to catch his attention on our own and well. . .you're kind of hard to ignore."

Lydia sniggers despite whatever petulant reaction it might get out of Jackson.

"Swear to God I'm moving back there."

"No you're not," Lydia snorts. "You enjoy being around your fellow douches too much."

"Always a pleasure to hear your opinions Lydia." She's long since grown inured to Jackson's biting.

"Not to get in the way of your spat, but could you just howl Jackson, we're possibly on limited time here." It's a bit of a relief to have Danny there, because he's right and in the end she and Jackson wouldn't have accomplished anything except pissing each other off.

Jackson gives an annoyed sigh. "Yeah, yeah, alright." He takes a deep breath then. . .there's always something disconcerting about hearing a sound like that coming out of what she knows is a human throat.

When the howl dies down it feels more quiet than it should in the school. "That good? Or should I try again?"

"Let's give it a few minutes first." Danny clicks off the speaker. "So how's school?"

Lydia tunes Danny out and goes back to the door, opening it and leaning out; straining for any sort of sound or feeling that the others heard Jackson and are coming.

Finally she hears a thunder of feet, you'd think they'd at least _try_ to be inconspicuous, and she turns back around. "They're here Danny."

She hears him say goodbye to Jackson and then Scott's bursting into the room eyes flaring. "Who's hurt?" He draws up short when he realizes it's her and Danny in the room. Which is about the same time everyone else comes barreling in.

They all look like shit, and it's clear they're all sick with whatever but are somehow managing to fight the infection. She finds she's starting to feel glad Jordan insisted she put on this suit.

"How" –gasp– "the hell" –wheeze– "did you two get past everyone?" Lydia hopes Stiles doesn't pass out from trying to talk, though she guesses if he does Kira will still hold him up.

Lydia hopes everyone can see her shrug through the suit. "We went in through the vault."

"You know where the vault is?" Out of everyone Kira looks the least sick, though at the moment that doesn't mean much.

Malia and Liam basically look like they're propping each other up. And from here she can see Liam's eyes flaring and his face contorting, see Malia's claws. She nearly asks about that, but decides against it for now. "Yeah, why?"

Scott shifts his weight, though it somehow draws attention to the fact he's own eyes are glowing and his fangs are hard not to notice. "We were gonna quarantine ourselves from everyone else, the virus is affecting us differently."

Obviously, and that at least answers her unasked question. "Danny you want to lead them to the vault?" She has other things she needs to make sure of.

"What about you?" Part of her wishes Danny hadn't just asked that.

"I need to find my mom, make sure she's alright." Calling her 'mom' doesn't change the fact that she isn't, but this woman also raised and brought her up. Lydia at least owes her some gratitude and care for that.

Kira straightens a little. "She's fine Lydia, so far none of the adults have been infected."

_Huh_, in Lydia's mind at least that firmly rules out airborne pathogen, it wouldn't apparently be localized to teenagers if it were. "I still want to check myself."

"No." Scott even manages to sound authoritative. "If we split up you'll get quarantined with everyone else. We can't loose you."

Part of her fights for her to demand 'why?', why now and not other times when the pack's left her to her own devices; but the rest buckles under the authority of the Alpha and the social need to not be looked down on. "Fine," she snaps. Walking over to Kira and Stiles she takes Stiles' other arm and slings it over her shoulder. Freeing Kira to help Scott, not that Scott really accepts said help.

Stiles is heavy against her, and mostly dead weight; once again she's grateful she dressed sensibly. "You'd better be able to walk Stiles, I'm _not_ dragging you all the way to the basement."

He laughs weakly, "I got here just fine." He sounds more proud of that then he really should be.

"Yeah, well Kira's a taller crutch than I am." With a jerk of her head she tries to tell Danny they should be leaving.

Luckily he gets the message and soon they're a jumbled line walking back towards the basement.

Despite the fact that seventy percent of the group's sick they make surprisingly good time and before Lydia knows it they're in the basement.

At the vault door there's a bit of lollygagging. "Someone with claws is going to have to open it," Lydia volunteers. She hopes that no one really questions how she and Danny got in through the other side, because she doesn't want to share Jordan like that, not with them at least –and she's not really going to inspect the implications of that thought.

Scott tries to be subtle in his sidling up to her. "Do they need to be a Hale?" From the way no one else really reacts to that question she guess her and Stiles are the only ones who hear it. She shrugs. "How should I know."

Which probably won't make her current position any better but she doesn't care. So Scott turns to Malia. "Can you get it?"

"Why me?"

He raises his hands to show off his fingers. "I can't bring out my claws. I don't think Liam can either."

Everyone turns to Liam who tries to sink into Malia's side. But at a look from Scott he dutifully raises his right hand and scrunches his face up in concentration –which is a little adorable in a sad way. After a minute of nothing happening Malia sighs. "Fine, but first you guys have to come clean."

There's some nervous shuffling as Malia shoves Liam onto Kira; and Malia clearly picks up on it. "There's no use hiding it anymore I know–"

"Look we–" Stiles tries to interrupt Malia.

"–I'm on the deadpool." She continues as if Stiles hasn't said anything at all.

Which means Stiles' mouth shuts with a vaguely disturbing click of his teeth.

"Though I don't know why you guys are so worried about me being on it, all of you are worth more than I am, obviously the assassin's will go after everyone else first." Lydia wonders how Malia knows that.

"Liam's not worth as much as you are," Lydia corrects. Then she does her best to pinch Stiles and hisses, "if you call that progress I'm going to drop you." He wisely doesn't say anything.

"As fascinating as this all is, I'd like to get into the vault sooner rather than later," Danny says.

Malia shrugs and goes up to the knot. Lydia's not sure if it's instinct, or if whatever magic's tied into the seal recognizes Malia's a Hale and helps, but Malia gets the claw configuration right the first time and the door slides open smoothly, revealing the dim lights –and Lydia feels a little relief that the other entry's clearly closed.

They all shuffle in Scott and Kira, who's still trying to help Scott even if he's ignoring it, finally collapse against a crate close to the safe. Malia and Liam make it a bit further before they too sink to the floor. Danny surprises Lydia by going over to Scott and Kira. "You guys alright."

"Mmwanna be next to Malia," it's weird to realize that for a moment she'd forgotten Stiles is still leaning on her. But she dutifully shuffles him over and sets him down on Malia's other side. Who promptly sighs and rests her face on his shoulder. Which shifts Liam closer to Malia, creating the sort of picture you wish you had a camera to memorialize.

She leaves them to their almost-cuddling and meets up with Danny in the center. "What should we do now?"

Danny arches a disbelieving eyebrow. "You're asking _me_? _You're_ the one who I thought had a plan."

"Yeah, to find the pack and then try to figure out how this started in the hopes that can help us stop it." There's a growing urge in her to tear off the hazmat suit, the muted sensations are starting to bug her.

He runs his hands through his hair, an action Lydia finds she wishes she could do herself. "Alright well how are we going to go about the second part?'

She sighs, because there's no better way to showcase her frustration at the moment. But before she can speak someone else does.

"It's gotta be an assassin," Stiles looks better off than he did a few moments ago, and it's surprising he managed to go up to them without either noticing. He's missing his outer jacket and a quick glance tells her Malia's now wearing it, her head flopped the other way to lean against Liam's.

And while that's more of a thought than Lydia's been having she still needs to question it. "How do you suppose that?"

He shrugs. "It's worse for them," his hands fly out to gesture at everyone else. "Than for me. And the assassin might be here looking for them, apparently the Benefactor wants visual confirmation before paying out."

"That still doesn't explain _how_ they did it if it is an assassin." Danny sounds surprisingly calm about that, then again the freak out might come later. On the other hand his name's not on the deadpool so it's not like _he's_ got to worry about people coming after him.

Lydia opens her mouth to start tearing Stiles a new one for keeping what's seems like very important information about the Benefactor from her, but Stiles speaks before she can make a sound as if he knows what she wants to do. "Maybe the CDC's figured what this is by now. Two of us could go check? I volunteer to be one." Of course Stiles would, if he had a chance to find out find out what happened in Hell firsthand he would probably go.

She and Danny share a look, and he speaks before she can. "You want to stay here? They trust you more."

She nearly rolls her eyes at that, yeah because she's _pack _–the kind of pack you withhold possibly vital information from and leave alone when there are assassins who might kill her wandering around town. But Danny's got points he didn't even verbally bring up. Like the fact he's better suited to fighting if it somehow came to that. And she swears when she has a second of free time she's going to ask Jordan to start giving her self-defense lessons.

"Alright yeah," Though she wants to know her mom's still safe someone needs to stay behind to watch everyone else. Danny gives her a hug, which she gratefully returns even if she can't really feel it.

"Stay safe alright?" It's not quite an echo of Jordan's earlier words but it's a nice reminder that there are at least some people who still care about _her_. She nods as they pull away and she stands in the middle of the vault and watches as Stiles and Danny leave.

The sound of the vault closing sounds more ominous than it has any right to be. And fear trickles down her spine when she realizes there's a scream slowly building up inside her.

000

For someone's who's sick Stiles seems to be doing alright, not that Danny's one to judge at the moment he'd hate to be dragging Stiles' lame ass around. "What's the first order of business?" He doesn't know if following Stiles' suggestions, whatever they might be, is the best of ideas but he's drawing a blank.

Stiles jitters. "Lets. . .We should check on Lydia's mom, see what she knows."

Which Danny guesses is better than stumbling around without a clue. "Alright."

Since Stiles knows the way better than he does, relatively speaking, Danny lets him go first and trails after; feeling almost hyper-aware of his surroundings. Especially the heating vents; though California never really gets the sort of hot he's used to. It makes him miss Hawai'i, and Kilauea, even more –and wonder once again _why_ he parents moved the family from there to here, there weren't even any constantly active volcanoes nearby to draw from.

They check the cafeteria first since it's closer, and luck out when they see Mrs. Martin there. Danny hangs back while Stiles stumbles up to her. The two of them chat, he's far enough away that he can't make out words; but at about the same time he and Stiles realize Coach is on one of the quarantine beds. Which from what Kira, and it's been strange seeing her around school this week and recall she's not just the new girl with good fashion sense, said isn't right.

A minute or so later Stiles is back by his side and they quickly make themselves scarce before any CDC agents corner them. "So what'd she say?"

"That I should be laying down," Stiles gripes as they head down an abandoned hall. "And that yeah, Coach is the only adult to get sick. He's the reason she called the CDC."

Danny lets things mull in his brain for a few moments as they somehow start heading towards Coach's office. "So what's something all the students touch but none of the adults?" Danny's sure there're quite a few things only students touch but at the moment he can only draw a blank.

"Except Coach." Stiles reminds.

An exasperated huff escapes him before he can stop it, because _duh._ "And Coach. Anything happen this morning?"

"Just an early practice since the first game of the season's next week. And dude, why'd you not sign up for lacrosse this year? You're one of our best players." Stiles bumps their shoulders and gives his best 'you can tell me anything' look, but Danny's never really bought it.

He shrugs. "Just wasn't really feeling it this year." Which he could say for a lot a lot of things this year, overall everything's been kind of 'blah' and part of him kind of wants to take after Ethan and just _leave_. Jackson's been ragging on him to go to Jungle and find a one night stand to get it out of his system; though Danny's really never been that sort of guy.

The desire to go find himself a nice volcano to live next to, Mexico had some good ones, and be a hermit is sounding better and better by the second; except Danny thinks he might go a little stir-crazy without people."So anything different happen during practice?"

Stiles frowns and scrunches his face up, which makes him look even worse. "Well Greenburg accidentally threw Coach into the lockers after, and believe you me he got the lecture of a lifetime."

Danny can believe it, Greenburg's like that. A few steps later something clicks. "What if it's the lockers?"

Stiles stumbles to a stop. "What?"

"Come on have you ever seen a teacher willingly touch the lockers?" And even though he's 98% certain he's immune he still finds himself stepping away from the nearest row of lockers. Danny doesn't really know all that much about diseases save for what he's learned in various science classes over the years but there were incubation periods right? "Did. . .Did Coach teach econ?"

A frown appears on Stiles' face. "No, there was a sub, though it didn't make sense at the the time because he'd been fine that morning and I don't think anyone knew he was sick yet. . ."

In some disturbing coincidence Stiles' realization is punctuated by the cocking of a gun. Sharing panicked looks he and Stiles slowly turn around to see an innocuous looking man pointing a gun right at them. "You did seem too clever by far Mr. Stilinski." His eyes flick to Danny for a moment, but he knows the exact moment the man stops considering him a threat.

Danny's experienced a lot of things most would consider terrifying and been relatively unphased, usually related to very hot things and fire. Though apparently like everyone else he's terrified of having a gun pointed at him. Though to be more precise the gun's pointed at Stiles. Danny knows there are things he could do to change the balance in this situation, but all of them still have the possibility of either of them getting shot.

Like he's got enough power in him, thank you empty calories, that he could blind the guy but that doesn't guarantee he won't shoot Stiles before then, or he could burn the guy's arm –but that has the same possibility. So he's hobbled, and he hates it; there's also the fact that Stiles is here and out of everyone he's the one who is apparently incapable of leaving well enough alone. If Stiles weren't here well Danny would definitely be acting.

"Now," the man speaks drawing Danny from his thoughts. "If you'd be so kind as to take me to your friends Mr. Stilinski."

This just keeps getting better and better.

000

Lydia paces in the vault, always making sure everyone else is staying in place –because they totally need the four of them wandering around and getting _more_ hurt, too nervous to sit still. She thinks she might be turning into Stiles, because the silence here is starting to feel oppressive, she thinks it might be because of the scream still building and building, and she just _has_ to fill it. "Is everyone alright? Anything changed?" Visual observation can only tell you so much.

"My vision's starting to go blurry."

"I feel like shit."

"I'm fine."

Liam only snarls, but even though she's apparently feeling like shit Malia still keeps him in his spot –though it basically entails her sitting on him.

Deciding Malia's got that relatively covered she strides over to Scott and crouches down. His eyes are violently strobing between Alpha red and dark brown. Lydia bites back a sigh. "Scott whatever you are is _not_ fine."

He bares his teeth at her. "I'll be okay, worry about the others."

This time she nearly bites through her tongue trying to hold back her waspish reply of 'don't be such a fucking martyr.' If Scott wants her to worry about the others then fine she'll worry about them, at least they might care.

Luckily for Scott the crinkle of paper distracts her and she's whirling around. Malia's unfolding a piece of paper and _oh Stiles you didn't_.

But apparently he did. Malia stares at the page for a few tense seconds. Then: "Guys. . . I. . .I can't see."

In a flash Lydia's at her side. "Malia, Malia I need you to take deep breaths okay? You're still alive, it's just psychosomatic." Which might be a lie, but Lydia's freaked out enough at the moment that she doesn't think anyone will notice, then again the fact she could say it all shows just how panicked she is.

Malia moves in that Liam underneath her moves. "I don't know what that means Lydia."

"But I do know what it means and you trust me right?" It's a bit of a low blow, but Lydia'll take it if it means Malia stays calm.

"Enough." Well that's better than no.

Lydia takes one of Malia's hands in her gloved ones. "Than trust me when I say you'll get better. Danny and Stiles'll be back soon and we'll fix you all. Alright?" Closing her eyes Lydia prays they don't make liars of her.

"Okay."

And still the scream builds.

000

"How about not?" And there Stiles goes running his mouth off. Though in this case Danny's not going to stop him, it might just be the distraction they need to either draw attention to them, or for him to figure out something. "Though to be perfectly honest they dropped me in a hot second when they realized what was happening. Human dead weight, that's me."

Well there's some issues Danny's not going to touch with a mile long pole. Stiles' inadequacy issues aside Danny wishes the assassin had caught them in the locker room and not in a hall, he could really use an lacrosse stick right now.

"Now, now Stiles, that's not true is it? And you should be grateful you're human, unlike you're friends you'll get better. So please," he raises the gun to Stiles' head. "Take me to them."

Danny feels his heart's going to jump right out of his throat, and even though it means dealing with angry parents he gathers light and heat inside him, _kuki-'ena-i-ke-ahi-ho'omau-honua help me find my path_, he inhales in preparation for releasing that light and heat to blind, but before he can exhale the gun fires and _oh goddesses._ He's got blood splatter on him and he feels he needs to shower for a century.

Which is about the time he realizes that it's not Stiles who has been shot, but the assassin. And there's one Mr. McCall, like some badass action movie hero he starts unzipping his hazmat suit –Danny's never really liked older men but alright.

"Melissa wanted me to tell you the cure you need's in the vault. It's a dried mushroom called purple reshi. And that you need to hurry! Go!"

Dissipating heat's harder than gathering it, but it's easy for him to convert it into extra energy to throw into running, which he does after grabbing Stiles and hoping he can keep it together long enough for them to get back to the vault.

000

For a brief moment Lydia almost-hears whispering, whispering that draws the scream unwillingly from her. Gritting her teeth the scream only comes out as some weird groaning-squeak. As it passes the whispering grows stronger and Lydia's certain that she didn't know whoever died. It still catches the other's attention though. "Lydia are you okay?" It annoys her at how genuinely worried Scott sounds. As if reacting to her annoyance Malia shifts away from her.

Now that she doesn't have to worry about screaming anymore something in her relaxes. "I'm fine Scott." She is, and she will be dammit!

"Lydia!" She starts at hearing a voice through the wall.

She feels a little bad at leaving Malia to go to the door but she does. "What?"

"There should be a vaccine there in the vault." This time she can tell it's Danny on the other side. "It's called purple reishi and it's in a jar."

She will _not_ roll her eyes. "Danny there are a million jars, I need more than that!"

"It's a dried mushroom! It's rare, so I don't think there'll be much of it. I literally know nothing more than that."

"Alright. I'll see what I can find." She leaves the wall and starts looking around, paying more attention to the smaller jars than the bigger ones. Finally she thinks she's found it, opening the jar tries to smell it, then remembers she _can't_. Quickly she goes back to the wall. "I think I found it. What do I do now?"

For a moment the other side's quite and she feels a flash of fear, then: "how the hell should I know Lydia? Scott's dad wasn't thick with the details."

Lydia bangs her head lightly against the wall a few times. "Fine then," she mutters to herself. "We'll figure it out on our own."

"Lydia?" Kira sounds like she's about to start crying and Lydia takes a few deep breaths.

Go about this logically: she can't exactly introduce it into the bloodstream which would be the best way of administering it, maybe crushing some up and forcing inhalation might work but she has no idea how _fast_ it'll work, then again she has no idea how fast their stomachs would digest the stuff if she managed to force feed them. And it's not like she's got time to experiment.

So taking a deep breath she opens the jar, reaches in, and goes over to Malia, pulling out a mushroom she crushes it in her hand and thrusts it under Malia's nose. "Three deep breaths Malia." At least she doesn't argue. Then quickly she does the same thing to Liam, who she really should have done first since he's the newest at being a supernatural creature.

When she's 'dosed' them she goes over to Kira, as the Alpha she feels Scott could last the longest against the virus, also he was kind of an asshole to her earlier. "Kira, deep breaths." Lydia starts praying to whoever might be listen that this is working.

Finally she gets to Scott, glancing over she sees that Malia at least looks better than she did before, though Liam doesn't look any _worse_, which is highly encouraging. "Scott I need you to take deep breaths alright?"

When she's satisfied she sets the jar, still open, on the floor hopefully whatever it is that makes the mushrooms do whatever it is they're doing will disseminate in the air and speed everything along. She heads to the door and hits the button and there's relief in seeing Danny, with a basically comatose looking Stiles in a fireman's carry over his shoulders, on the other side.

He stumbles in and shrugs Stiles off, and since she's still got the crushed reshi in her other hand she sticks it under Stiles' nose, "if you can still breath make them deep Stiles."

Seconds later he's coughing and sputtering. "Christ that reeks."

Lydia lets loose the nervous laughter bubbling in her chest; she claps her hands together a few times to introduce the rest of the powdered mushroom on her suit into the air as well. And she finds herself really relaxing, _crisis averted. _As if to prove it to herself she starts trying to tear herself out of the hazmat suit.

Out of the corner of her eye she watches as Stiles, now standing on his own power, starts walking towards where Malia is, only to freeze. So she stops her own actions and turns to see Malia holding the paper again, _fuck_.

Clearly better now she starts walking, batting away Stiles' outstretched hand as she passes it, and seconds later she's gone. Lydia would be more worried if she didn't think Malia had a right to know about who she really was; so instead she finishes getting herself out of the suit, somehow managing it on her own.

Scott and Stiles have already left the vault, if she had to guess to find Malia and make their case. And Kira's helping Liam out, leaving her and Danny. "I'm gonna head out that way," she gestures towards the vault's actual entrance. "You coming or are you going to hang around?"

Before she even finishes the question she realizes Danny's heading for the door. "Definitely not going to hang around. I just wanna go home, hug Katie and fall into bed." As he passes her he pulls her into another hug, this time she fully relishes it, enthusiastically hugging him back.

"Thank you for coming with me," she might have been able to do it without him, but not without some of the pack possibly dying.

He gives her a squeeze then pulls away. "What are friend for but for following each other into potentially deadly situations. Also you owe me big time, I had a gun held up to my head."

With a roll of her eyes Lydia squats down to close up the reshi jar and put it away. Gathering up her suit she follows Danny up the stairwell. "Well you could just not owe me five dollars and we can call it even?"

As the sign pulls away from the hole Danny turns and gives her a look. "Not on your Life Lydia Florence Martin."

000

Jordan feels mostly relief when Lydia and her friend Danny, finally come out. He hangs back though as the two of them say goodbye; but when Danny's finally gone he rushes to her side and pulls her into a hug. Right now he doesn't care about what happened two days ago, all he cares about is reassuring himself that she's alive and well and _here_.

It takes her a few moments but soon she's hugging him back and something inside him he didn't even know was tense relaxes. "Everything alright?" He has no idea what happened to her in there, and he feels he has a right to be worried.

She shakes with laughter for a brief second. "Yeah, everything's fine. It's just. . .I think I learned some things about the others that just. . .change things."

"You want to talk about it?" He pulls away far enough that it's easy to cup her face with his hands, which feels infinitely better without the plastic face plate of that suit.

He thinks she might burst into tears, but then she gives a sharp shake of her head. "No. I just. . .can you hold me for a little longer?"

Which manages to get a faint smile out of him. "Yeah, I can do that." He pulls her closer again, letting some of his glamour encircle and hide them from prying eyes.

Lydia gives a soft sigh and rests her head on his collarbone.

Jordan's not sure how long they stay like that but eventually Lydia pulls away, a watery smile on her face. "Thank you." Almost shyly, an attitude he didn't think he'd ever see on Lydia, she toes at the suit on the ground between them, crumpled and dirty from where they've stepped on it. "You should probably take this back."

He's not sure if it's deflection or if she's genuinely worried about what the CDC might do if they realize one if their suits are missing. Either way she's right and he probably should really be going. "Yeah, you fine getting home on your own?"

She nods, "I'm going to wait here until they release mom and I can ride home with her."

This time he gives her the brightest smile he can, holding out his free hand. "May I?" It seems polite to ask after everything that's happened.

Without even asking what he means she puts her hand in his. He turns it so her wrist is face up and brings it up to his lips. Her breath hitches as he kisses her pulse and he feels it jump under his touch. When he pulls away it's hard not to notice her hazel eyes are nearly luminous. "Until I see you again Lydia."

And he turns around and leaves.

000

At the end of the day she finds herself at the loft, staring at Peter's back –and wondering where the hell Derek is. She will, in no way shape or form, tell him she's been worried about him. Because worry implies she cares about him, which she doesn't, why should she care about a fuck-buddy? "Please tell me you're not posing for dramatic effect?" She wouldn't put it past him.

Peter laughs. "Ah Lydia, I have so missed your biting wit." He turns to face her, a smirk on his lips, which she absentmindedly notices is surrounded by stubble.

"Well if you didn't up and vanish you might get more of it more often." She arches an eyebrow and crosses her arms. She, however, feels she has the right to accuse him.

He takes a few steps closer to her. "And if I told you I have a good reason?" He comes closer, and it doesn't escape her that he's stalking her.

"Not good enough Peter. I get that you're concerned about Malia being on the list. . ."

"Now what makes you think that Lydia? When have I ever shown concern for her?"

Crossing her arms she tilts her head up to glare at him. She knows he's trying to distract her, and it's working a little, but she overall won't be dissuaded. "What happened?"

Peter's now standing right in front of her, forcing her to crane her neck so she can still meet his eye, _asshole_. "Now, now Lydia. I'm not one to kiss and tell. Especially to you."

Ooooooo, she just wants to. . .what she wants gets replaced with something new when he yanks her to him, hoisting her up so he can kiss her.

She throws all her anger into that kiss, eagerly biting his lips and tongue to draw what little blood she can, adding a coppery tang to the mix.

Without warning her back's slammed into a wall and she breaks the kiss so she can gasp for air. Taking advantage of that Peter starts marking her neck, his stubble –it must be important if he's forgetting to shave again– scratching in just the right ways. A hiss escapes her as pushes aside the neck of her shirt to bite her shoulder.

"Ow."

Peter chuckles, the sound rumbling through her in a deliciously pleasant way, overwhelming the pain of his bite. He noses at it for a moment before pulling away and kissing her again, all the while tearing at her shirt. Or at least one hand does, the other dives down, taking more care in undoing her jeans than everything else.

When that hand finally breaches her pants it takes no time in maneuvering around her underwear to play with her clit and labia, driving her into real arousal. "Ah!" She's quickly finding she can get behind some 'thank God I'm alive' sex.

She can feel Peter's smile as they continue to kiss. "Oh,"–he finally manages to destroy her shirt and she'll probably be angry about it later–"Lydia." Now that she's leaking juice his fingers dive in, stretching her and curling in madding ways. "How lovely you are."

"Peeeteerrrr," she couldn't care less about what he thinks about her right now, just as long as doesn't stop.

He doesn't, and a wondrous orgasm crashes over her. "Mmmmm."

Another laugh from him as she feels her pants and underwear being shoved down. "Condom?"

Languorously she points at her purse, "front pocket." Being prepared isn't only for boy scouts.

He has to pull her away from the wall to reach her purse, but in the long run it's worth it. When they hit the wall again it's not as much of a slam, but it's still fairly forceful. And before she knows it he's inside her, hips thrusting relentlessly and she'd wonder about that except she's just as caught up in it. Nails digging through his shirt into skin, her own hips under his hands jerking to meet his, a steady stream of moans and sighs escaping her as they hurdle towards something.

A snarl is the only indication she gets that he orgasms, for a moment she can feel wolf teeth pressing against the _very_ vulnerable part of her throat, but then his fingers return squeezing and pressing her clit to give her a second orgasm.

Feeling worn out she rests her head against as he hoists her up a little higher to carry her towards what she guesses is his room. Still joined, and how he managed that she doesn't really want to know, he sets her on the bed, laying on top of her only enough that she feels the press and weight of him. He makes a contented rumbling sound, that _purr_ of his. "You wouldn't happen to have another condom in that purse of yours?"

She doesn't know whether to laugh or groan. "No. And really you want to go again right now?"

He swivels his hips, though that only proves to drive home the fact that he's still flaccid. "Of course not, but there's always later." Lydia rolls her eyes at that.

"You're insatiable."

The smile he gives her has lots of teeth. "Why thank you." Finally he pulls out and maneuvers her so she's actually got her head on a pillow before walking off. He's not gone for long though, returning and turning her over. Too warm hands going to work on her back.

She wonders briefly if the universe is trying to reward her for all she's lived through with orgasms and massages, if so she finds she'll gladly take them, before humming sleepily. "You're being _too_ nice."

Peter laughs. "Well next time I'll use more teeth. And really Lydia I do have _some_ manners."

The desire to have a catnap overcomes the urge to snark and she finds herself closing her eyes and relaxing fully under Peter's ministrations. But she's not asleep. "I think you're still trying to distract me."

"And if so, what am I trying to distract you from?" Despite his words his hands don't pause in their massage, pressing and kneading gently.

Fighting back a moan, serious conversation here, she manages to speak. "Whatever idiot idea you have for trying to save Malia." She feels him tense a little. "And don't say you don't care, you care at least a little, otherwise you wouldn't be worried that her name's in the deadpool." For the moment she won't say that she's damn certain he cares about _her_ a lot more. It's at the very least too much for _her_ to deal with.

Peter doesn't sound all that happy when he responds. "Alright, say that I _do _care. Why would I go out of my way and risk my life to save hers?"

_Those who play with fire get burned_, she has to tread carefully otherwise things might get painful for her. "Because she's a Hale, and that still means something to you." Very. Careful. "When I brought you back from the dead you could have killed Derek to do it, or killed him afterwards, but you didn't. You could have left Cora to die when the Alphas attacked the hospital, but you didn't." Lydia shrugs, which feels weird laying down like this. "Malia's life is threatened, but she's a Hale." She's not going to say anything more on the subject.

His silence is answer enough for Lydia, but she won't push on that subject anymore at least. "You know if you talked to me I _could_ help, I _am_ the most intelligent person in town." She tries to keep her tone light.

"What makes you think I need your help?" At least he doesn't sound _too_ much like a condescending asshole. "I may have everything planned down to the last detail."

She laughs, because _of course_ Peter has everything planned for, except perhaps: "You do know Malia knows she's a Hale now right? Stiles was an idiot and left the last third of the list in his pocket and Malia found it."

Her massage stops, and seconds later Peter's on the bed next to her one of his arms across her back. "Alright, I didn't plan for that." At least he sounds more amused than anything else. "And why are you so curious about my so-called 'plans'? Aren't I a bad, horrible man, who should keel over and die. . .again?"

Peter's kind of adorable when he fakes petulance. "Better the devil you know right? And anyways my name's on that list too and I'd like to live for as long as possible. Just consider yourself, an alternate means to an end. The fall back plan." She thinks she might do better in trusting him than the Alpha with a martyr complex.

She turns her head to face him to see that he's smiling. "Dear Lydia, all grown up and cynical. Well if you really must know. . ."

00000

Next week: lots of Malia things.


	7. Chapter 7

Lydia finally creeps home sometime around one AM, apparently Peter enjoyed using his tongue for more than talking. Slipping her shoes off at the front door she shoos away an excited Prada before padding upstairs. Flicking on her overhead light she bites back a shriek when she sees Malia sitting on her bed –deja vu. . .roundaboutly. "How long have you been sitting there?" Well at least she doesn't _sound_ freaked out, though she has no idea what Malia's senses are picking up.

Malia shrugs. "A few hours, your room smells nice though." Lydia's fairly certain that's the strangest compliment she's ever gotten. Malia's nose crinkles. "Why do you smell like you mated?"

The question doesn't even phase Lydia as she goes over to her vanity and starts removing her jewelry. "Probably because I had sex." Lydia decides she isn't going to touch Malia's choice of words. "And why exactly are you here?" At least she never feels bad about being blunt with Malia. She heads into her bathroom to remove the last of her make up.

"Why didn't any of you tell me about being a Hale?" Malia sits on the toilet, and Lydia wonders how she can be so calm about it; though knowing Malia she probably already got all her anger out on poor defenseless rabbits before coming here.

"Because Stiles thought it would be better for you to not know just yet." Which as far as ideas Stiles has had is definitely in the bottom ten. "And to be fair we only found out about you on the dead pool the other night." Lydia's gotten better at dodging the truth.

"So is it Derek or Peter?"

Lydia barely even pauses in her movements. "What makes you think whichever parent gave you the Hale name is one that's still alive. And what makes you think _I _know?" It's misdirection sure, but Lydia also means them as honest questions.

Malia shrugs again. "If they were dead why hide it? And you're the banshee."

She rolls her eyes at Malia through the mirror. "Don't you remember anything I told you, I can't control my powers, and I definitely can't control what I get from them. And maybe Stiles wanted it hidden because at the moment the Hales aren't exactly known for good life choices." As someone who is fucking one she should know, though Derek's getting better despite his current loss of power, and at least Peter _talked_ to her about what he was doing. And really? Teaming up with _Kate_?

"Aright, but you know who it is right?"

Gripping the sink painfully tight Lydia curses Malia's bluntness, because it makes her ask questions Lydia can't dodge, and even if she could lie Malia would most likely sense it. Closing her eyes Lydia takes a few bracing breaths. "Yes, I know."

Malia's tone sounds almost eager. "Then who?"

Lydia almost doesn't answer right away, just to try and teach Malia some patience, but getting it out there seems more important right now. "Peter. Your father is Peter. We don't know about your mother." All Talia's claws had told her at the time was that Peter hadn't married the woman, whoever she was.

"Does he know?"

"Not back then, Talia took the knowledge from him for some reason, but he knows now." Lydia forces her fingers to relax and letting go of the sink she moves to sit on the edge of her bathtub, her fingers seemingly discontent with remaining straight curl around the rim. She finds herself curious as to whether or not the white enamel covering the iron core is enough to protect her from said iron; in what little free time she's had she's been trying to find out as much as she can about faeries on her own, though the internet definitely doesn't make it easy, and it's not like the books she's found are any better. Too many conflicting facts, too many interpretations. She's come to the realization she should be asking Jordan about these things but not at the moment, maybe in a day or two.

Irregardless, she wonders what would happen to her health wise if she sold this tub and bought a plain old porcelain one. "Lydia!"

Blinking she refocuses on Malia and gives her a wan smile. "Sorry I got distracted. What did you ask?"

Malia brakes their gaze and stares down at her knees. "I wanted to know your side of things."

"What?" At the moment Lydia doesn't think she could be any more flabbergasted.

She shrugs. "I know Scott and Stiles' points of view on everything with Peter. And. . ." Malia makes a face, clearly searching for the right words; Lydia lets her look on her own, Malia will find what she needs to say or she'll try and say it another way.

"And they're kind of the same, and when you're writing papers it always good to have at least one completely different opinion right?" She sounds so pleased about that that Lydia can't really say anything against it –then again she's right so saying anything against it would be wrong. "So what do you think about Peter?" Malia scrunches her nose up. "I mean. . ." she growls, fingers tightening and Lydia wonders if she's going to have to chastise Malia about not cracking the porcelain. "Is he. . ." Once again she stops. This time her frustration takes the form of standing up and pacing.

Almost instinctively Lydia stands as well, "Malia?" If there's a chance of her wolfing. . .coyoteing?, mentally Lydia rolls her eyes and decides to worry about wordage later, out then they definitely need to leave the bathroom.

Malia groans, and angrily yanks her hands through her hair. "This would be easier if we could howl."

Feeling that the metaphor of approaching a wounded wild animal is painfully accurate Lydia slowly steps into Malia's space and grabs her hands. Just as slowly she guides Malia out of the bathroom, feeling a bit more relieved once they're back in her bedroom. Sitting on her bed she gently tugs Malia down, letting go of her hands once she's sat. Feeling a brief pang of amusement that she's starting to fulfill her promise to Peter sooner than expected.

"Malia I know you're frustrated. Can you take a few deep breaths and try to calm down?" Lydia doesn't feel she can adequately deal with a frustrated were, and feels an actual pang of sympathy for Scott having to deal with Liam; though it's not quite the same really.

Deciding it's best not to press her Lydia stays quiet and just lets Malia work out her frustration herself, though at the very least Lydia's mentally applauding her restraint in not trashing the bedroom –maybe they would have been fine remaining in the bathroom after all.

Eventually though Malia looks calm, well about as calm as she usually does at least. "Uh. . .thanks. Right?"

Biting back a smile Lydia nods. "You're welcome. Now, what are you trying to ask me? Take as long as you need to."

Malia nods, and starts worrying her lip. Moments later she stops and her expression brightens. "Are your experiences with him different?" She grins. "There!"

Once again Lydia has to hold back her smile, especially when it's the sort of patronizing smile you'd give to a child. "Sweetheart, you have no idea." Sometimes Lydia wondered if _she_ did, even though he'd been in her mind Peter still eluded her with his thoughts and motivations occasionally. "As for my experience with him, it started at a video store. . ." Somehow she keeps her tone unemotional, even though inside she feels a mess, especially when they get to Peter's attack on the lacrosse field.

Though in a way, telling it to Malia makes her feel like it's happening to someone else, and Lydia's just as much a bystander to the events as Malia is. They manage to get to Peter's death before Malia actually interrupts. "Is that why Stiles was worried about me finding out? Because he thought I might just start killing everyone? Which is stupid, I'd only kill someone for food and then only if I really had to."

Lydia laughs, because in its own way Malia's logic makes perfect sense. "Oh sweetie. Peter wasn't killing people just because he could, or because he was rubs-hands-together-and-laughs-manically-evil." Which probably goes over Malia's head but whatever –they should be pushing her at least a little to understand more cultural things like that. Though she's certain in the eyes of Scott it probably seemed that way, even though through the murky memories she has from Peter tell her that Scott _knew _why Peter was killing those people.

"Vendetta's a legitimate reason in the eyes of supernatural beings for them to kill others, even humans." Part of Lydia wants to start pacing, but she also feels she needs to stick close to Malia. So to give herself something to do she starts picking off non-existent threads from her duvet. "From what I've read most hunters know about it, but try to stop it." The reasons, Lydia feels, are obvious. "But there are a few who'll look the other way if the creature in question. . .argues their case well enough?" It's not a perfect description, but Lydia feels it gets her point across.

"So at least in the eyes of the supernatural community, it technically was within Peter's rights. Like it was within Derek's rights, in the eyes of supernatural and hunters, to kill Peter before he could kill outside those bounds." Thinking about that Lydia's hands curl painfully tight into her duvet; everything else she's apparently fine with but Allison's near death by Peter's hands? Makes her want to go back to the loft and _hurt_ him. "Those who are born supernatural see things differently than everyone else." And it's still strange to realize she's part of that group.

Malia frowns and thumps her head gently against Lydia's headboard, as if trying to somehow hammer all Lydia's said in. "How do you know all this stuff? And why haven't you told Scott?"

Lydia's smile grows tight. "Well I know most of it because I've been translating the bestiary." Which is true, whatever she manages to get from Peter's memories are mostly in-the-moment instinctual bits of knowledge. And she's going to avoid answering that second question for as long as possible. "But it's also because of the second part of this ordeal. . ."

000

Over breakfast Saturday morning, well more like brunch considering when she woke up –she and Malia talked into the wee hours of the morning, she debates on whether or not she should ask Danny for help, it's not exactly legal and she knows he tries to be as white hat as possible. Then again saving lives is a good thing.

Resisting the urge to rush through the rest of her breakfast Lydia finishes at a normal pace, _then_ rushes upstairs to finish dressing. Snagging her laptop she shoves it into one of her larger purses. Just as fast she rushes down the stairs. "Mom, I'm going over to Danny's! I've got my phone!"

"Have fun dear."

A smile tugs at Lydia's mouth as she runs out the door.

This time she doesn't knock on Danny's door, just barges in. "Hi Mr. Mahealani!" She rushes past him up the stairs. She bangs her fist on Danny's door a few times, just to give him a heads up, before opening his door' if he's naked, well, it's not anything she hasn't seen before.

Thankfully he's not, though he does look a little panicked at her sudden arrival. "Lydia what?"

With a grin she sets her purse on his desk and pulls out her laptop, "I've got a challenge for you."

Danny's panicked expression flees in the face of curiosity. "An actual challenge? Or a stupid 'hack someone's phone' challenge?"

With an arched eyebrow she boots up her laptop. "Really Danny? Would I be so gauche? It's a real challenge. So remember the deadpool?"

"You mean the one that nearly got me shot yesterday? Yeah. What about it?" He peers over her shoulder as she brings up the access site. Usually she hates sounding woo-woo about her own powers, but in this case it really did come to her in a dream.

The screen goes dark and familiar green text pops up. "Well some of it's clearly automated and I wanted to know if you could find anything out for me." Something in her doesn't like that she says 'me' instead of 'us' but, she reminds that part of herself, no one else's suggested they bring this Danny and see what he can get from it.

Then again she really should have thought of it herself sooner, though she wonders what Danny would have been able to do without the access site.

"Well it's definitely old school. Looks like something out of the eighties." He nudges her and she gets out of the way, he rolls his chair over and starts typing rapidly. "I'll see what I can do 'Dia."

She smiles, even though he can't see it. "Thanks." Making herself at home she grabs a book off his shelf –Pratchett's _Guards! Guards!_– and sits back on his bed.

About halfway through the book Danny makes a sound of annoyance, one she's well familiar with. Grabbing a scrap of paper from his nightstand she puts it in her place and gets up. "What's wrong?"

"Well either I'm not skilled enough for this or you've got something completely unhackable."

"I didn't think anything was unhackable."

"Well if it's on it's own separate server, unconnected to anything you can't hack it unless you can access that server, directly or indirectly, but this is obviously connected to the internet. It's like. . ." She watches Danny struggle to come up with a comparison she'll understand. "It's like I'm speaking modern English and whatever I'm trying to hack into is speaking. . .proto-English."

"Old English," Lydia corrects, because having proper terminology seems important at the moment.

Danny rolls his eyes at her. "Fine. Old English. Anyways, I can understand _maybe_ one word in a hundred if I'm lucky and paying attention. But whoever wrote this program is was either high off their ass, or is you-levels of intelligent, because yeah, I can't get in. Or really do much. Sorry."

Lydia feels her shoulders slump. "Well thanks for trying at least."

"I can tell you one thing though."

Lydia feels a bubble of excitement. "What?"

"Where ever this server is, it's somewhere close to Beacon Hills."

She doesn't know if that's reassuring or more frightening.

000

Peter lets himself sigh audibly when he sees Malia claw open the safe. She whirls around, the files inside already clutched to her chest and narrows her eyes as he steps out of the shadows. "You could have just asked to have it opened you know. That safe's been in the family for generations." Which is a lie, though an amusing one.

"Well it's not like I've got a way to contact you. Or should I have howled?" The expression on her face is so cheeky he actually feels a pang of nostalgia.

He lets a smile twitch across his face as he leans back against a pillar. "Or you could have called Derek, we _do_ live together," especially now that he's out of money. "And I'm fairly certain he gave you his number after you helped him find Satomi's pack." He lets his gaze flick down to the file. "I hope you know I can't let you leave with that."

She rightly tenses. "I don't know, I think I could take you." It's a childish assertion of strength, one he's going to very quickly correct.

Pushing himself away from the pillar he turns slightly, "I take it you've been listening to Scott and Stiles about me. Comforting fairy tales about how I'm not as strong as I used to be." Not giving her a chance to respond he calls up the power in him –not as much as when he'd been an Alpha true, but Lydia's a wondrous well to draw from, and punches out a section of the pillar, concrete and dust flying everywhere.

Her heartbeat jumps and quickens as he approaches but all he does is show her his uninjured hand. "See? You shouldn't believe everything they tell you."

She says nothing, only holds out the file to him. He lets himself sigh again, dear sweet not-clever girl. "I said you couldn't leave with it, I didn't say anything about you not being able to read it."

Just as quickly as she'd offered it she yanks it back towards her. Flipping it open her eyes rapidly dart everywhere as if she doesn't know what to read first. Not that there's much to be read, Talia's usually meticulous records are disturbingly lacking, a startling disappointment from beyond her grave. The birth certificate has nothing more personal about her than _'Malia_' and a date of birth '_November 28, 1994_', then the usual spew of medical data.

Informationally speaking the adoption record hold even less, for all that it cost him more to get, though the rent in it from the Mute's attack certainly doesn't help. Malia soon come to the same conclusion. "There's nothing here." At least she sounds angry, just as angry about it as he'd first felt going through them.

"Yes, yes I know. It disappointed me too. And I paid all that money for it." When he finds the Benefactor he's going to make their death as slow as possible because of what they did. Though why, why, why is he not on the list too? It's not as much of a relief as he would have thought really.

She closes the folder with a disappointing _swish-wobble_. "Yeah well you got ripped off."

Rolling his eyes, no need to restate his own words, he finally takes the folder back. "Mmmm, I'll be sure to file a complaint with my PI." Going to a nearby shelving unit he sets the file down, now that the safe's useless there's no point in putting it back. Turning back to face her he crosses his arms. "Any questions?" He makes an exaggerated 'woe is me' face. "Why didn't you tell me? Why'd you give me up for adoption?"

Malia's 'bitch please' face is actually quite impressive. "No. Lydia already told me about that."

Which actually manages to stun him into silence, at least for a little bit. "Lydia told you?" _Lydia_, who might be fucking him but probably doesn't trust him as far as she can throw him; even if she knows _exactly_ what he's planning.

"Yeah," Malia fidgets and he's not sure if it's nerves or some tic she picked up from Stiles. "I waited at her house for hours to ask her about it, since she knows things. She told me about you being my dad and not knowing it and then I asked her about her side of things and. . ." She shrugs as if that explains everything.

Then again he's quite impressed she did that, _maybe she is his daughter after all_. "Well since you seem so interested in story time, would you like to hear my side? Straight from the mouth of babes as it were. Granted we might want to go out and get something to eat since even if we skip over the memory gaps and the six year coma it'll take a while."

Her nose wrinkles in a way that should be familiar he thinks; which might be the most disturbing thing about her from his perspective, that she has mannerisms that _should_ be familiar but aren't. _Thank you Talia for making _wonderful _choices _for_ me. _He has no idea what sort of father he'd have been, but Talia taking that possibility away from him hurts more than not having the opportunity to raise Malia himself.

"Lydia told me a lot of that too," she shrugs. "But if you want I'll listen." If she's spending so much time around Stiles she should understand sarcasm right? Maybe he should thank her for being so magnanimous.

"I'll grant you Lydia's a better source for knowledge about me than say Scott or Stiles," though he'd hope Scott would remember the memories of the fire he planted in him; or had he somehow managed to block them through sheer force of goodness? "But still even she can't really tell you what I experienced. How I clawed my way out of a catatonic state, why I killed those people."

"Vendetta." She supplies.

Which he thinks is proof enough that Lydia doesn't quite trust him, because she either plucked that from his memories or read it in the bestiary but either way she didn't tell him. Granted he didn't expect her to tell him everything, but a little demonstration of understanding on her part would go a long ways. But he inclines his head in acknowledgment, a hand rising up to trace the still familiar spiral in the air –even if she has no idea as to it's meaning , incomplete still because he'd been a fool and didn't finish the job with Kate. "Yes. My right. They burned my family and me alive. They had to die. The world needed to know being a Hale still meant something. . .still means something."

Sometimes he feels like he's the only Hale, not that they're plentiful these days, who thinks that way. But Peter remembers the security found in having name that was respected, even by hunters.

But he's sure Malia could care less about those sorts of musings. "So what do you say? Shall we have some father-daughter bonding time? Maybe go on a road trip and learn a useful life lesson?" He can't quite keep the biting sarcasm from his tone, but in this case he thinks being so off-hand might be good. True she is blood, but that doesn't change the fact that he _doesn't know her_. He doesn't know the way she thinks, or how she'll react to situations. He can't trust himself to trust her; he might even tell her that. . .later.

Malia shifts, moving a little ways away from him and glancing towards a cluttered shelf as if she finds it infinitely fascinating; her scent changes too, too fast for him to pick out individual emotions, like she's not quite sure how to react or feel at those words. Well he thinks, overall, the feeling's mutual.

She picks up a jar of yarrow leaves, and turns it in her hands. "Do you know anything about my mom?" It comes out in a rush, even with his hearing it's almost impossible to pick out the individual words. Her scent settles a little: eager, and nervous and expectant.

He doesn't sigh, because he knew this question would come up at some point, and it fact he's keen to know the answer himself. "I don't _remember_ anything." Malia's disappointed face doesn't phase him. "But I've asked around and I believe I've got a intriguing moniker."

Malia perks up, stepping towards him. "What is it?"

"The Desert Wolf," he finds himself smiling for no reason he can discern.

With a sort of carelessness that makes him internally wince she puts the jar down. She gets right up in his space and bares her teeth. "Tell me everything."

It's a little cute, the way she thinks she's actually threatening. "Alright."

000

Malia returns later in the day, surprising Lydia. Thought at least this time she didn't suddenly appear in her bedroom; in fact she _knocked_ on the _front door_. So yes, Lydia thinks she's allowed to be surprised for a few seconds. Eventually she brings herself to speak. She almost says 'what's up' before remembering sayings like that still confused Malia some times. "Is there anything wrong? Or did you just come to visit?"

Malia shrugs. "Visit. . .I guess?" She wrinkles her nose like she's caught a bad smell. "I talked to Peter this afternoon."

Well then. Lydia steps aside and gestures for Malia to come in. "You hungry?"

Another shrug. "No."

Lydia lets herself sigh. "If you have a definite answer Malia you don't shrug," at least she manages to not sound too chiding. "Have you ever tried tea?" Lydia makes a mental note to talk to Stiles about what he's introduced Malia too, and the fact her. . .'reeducation' should be a group project. She leads the way into the kitchen.

This time she gets a shake of the head in response. "What's it like?"

"Um," Lydia's never really been asked to compare tea to something before. Malia takes one of the seats

at the island, clearly watching Lydia's actions. "It's kind of like fruit juice, except it's hot, and usually made from leaves and not fruit." Which is a horrible description, but also the most likely one for Malia to have reference to.

Malia slumps until her chin's resting on the tile counter, long arms stretched out before her and nearly reaching the other side. "I'll try it, I guess."

Pulling down a pot Lydia decides to do chamomile, not quite as bitter as a lot of the teas she has, and they could use some calming. As she waits for the water to boil she decides she may as well ask. "So how did things go with Peter?" She hadn't expected them to come in contact so quickly, especially considering everything that had happened yesterday.

"Alright?" Malia's shrug at least is more appropriate than the last one. "He's strange."

Lydia lets herself laugh. "Really? I wouldn't have guessed."

Malia's brow furrows and Lydia has to remember sarcasm usually goes over her head. "But you told me he was different."

"Sorry, that was sarcasm. I'll try not to use it again. What did you talk about?" She pours the water into the pot, watching the chamomile start to float and move.

"My mom, him, he let me see the adoption records. They weren't all that helpful." Malia sighs. "I thought things like that were supposed to be helpful."

Lydia shrugs as she gets two mugs down, and has to remind herself no sarcasm. "Most of the time records can be, but. . .I don't know about supernatural records. And for all we know Talia didn't know what you were when she put you up for adoption." Though if Lydia finds out the opposite is true she might break something; knowing a child was supernatural and putting them with humans and not telling said humans? On the general scale of ideas that's a bad one.

"Peter said he's asked around and he thinks he's found a name. Apparently she's called the Desert Wolf."

Appropriate for a possible werecoyote. "Anything else?"

Malia sits up straight watching curiously as Lydia pours out the tea. "Just that I shouldn't trust him until he knows me better. Why would he say that? Shouldn't it be until _I_ know him better?"

How best to explain? Lydia wraps her hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth. And now she's the one watching as Malia picks up her own mug and brings it up to her face, sniffing. "Don't drink it yet, you'll scald your tongue." Malia recoils as if just sniffing it's enough to scald herself. "And Peter. . .Peter does mean it that way."

Lydia wonders if she should go farther, then decides they've kept enough for Malia and it might help her to understand as best she can. "Peter wants to trust you because you're family, albeit family he didn't know about until recently. But he's been hurt before by family and so he's torn. So yes, he wants to know what kind of person you are before he'll trust you implicitly." She hopes Peter doesn't mind she's said that, if he ever finds out.

Malia's frowning, staring into her tea like it might have all the answers –she hasn't even drunk it yet and she's already got the pensive drinker look down. "I. . .maybe understand that." Her shoulders slump and she growls, as if annoyed with her own lack of comprehension. "Why are people so confusing?"

Loosening her grip on her mug Lydia gives a rueful chuckle. "We confuse ourselves Malia, so there really is no good answer to that." Feeling enough time's past Lydia dips her pinky in to test the temperature of the tea. Perfect. "Watch what I do." Raising her mug to her face she blew on the liquid before taking a sip. The warm tea felt heavenly as it slid down her throat and she gave a contented sigh.

Brow furrowed with more concentration than needed Malia copied her, blinking in what's most likely surprise. She quickly took another sip. "That's. . .strange, and sweet. I like that it's warm though."

Lydia didn't answer content to just enjoy her own tea and watch Malia experience something for the first time. She was pouring out more tea when Malia squirmed in a way that indicated she was either in pain or wanted to ask something potentially uncomfortable. Relaxing back into her own chair Lydia gripped her mug a little tighter. "Is there something you want to ask?"

Malia actually _blushed_. "Um. . .what does it mean that I'm bleeding. . .down there?"

Flabbergasted Lydia couldn't do anything more than open and close her mouth for a few seconds before realizing that _holy shit she was going to have to give the puberty talk to an eighteen year old girl_. "Down there is your vagina sweetheart. And it's called menstruation, are you doing it right now?" She might have some pads in her bathroom she could give to Malia –she didn't know how ready Malia would be for tampons.

Another squirm. "Yes."

Setting her mug down Lydia stood, "come with me." They trooped up to her bathroom and she rummaged around giving a little triumphant noise when she found pads. "Any chance you have a clean pair of underwear." She is _not_ going to think about the particulars of that question.

Malia gives a relieved nod and pulls a pair out from her pocket. "I'm running out though, 'cause I've been tossing them away since they always end up covered in blood. I asked my dad to buy me more, but he smelled uncomfortable, and it's not like I can steal anything from Stiles anymore" She looks at Lydia for a moment, before quietly asking. "Do you have any more of Allison's clothes?"

The question doesn't hurt, at least not like she'd thought it would. More a fond ache than anything else. It had been a impulse the other month to give Malia Allison's stuff; part of her had just wanted the boxes out her room, to stop being a constant reminder. "No, sorry."

"Does it stop?" Malia's question quickly drags her back to the present and mostly away from her grief.

_Oh God_. As quickly as possible Lydia explains pads, and that yes, periods did have an end, and leaves to let Malia to try them out. As she paces her room Lydia finds herself running her hands through her hair, bring her hands back down to her sides she clenches them. On the whole this is the most laughable situation for her to be in at the moment, as if the universe wanted to give her a simple problem in the most frustrating way possible.

An unintended thread of dread creeps into Lydia, _if Malia didn't know about this what else?_ Shaking off the dread as silly she knocks on the bathroom door. "Hey Malia?"

There's some rustling. "Yeah?"

Taking a deep bracing breath, because knowing the answer might scar her for life, she bites the bullet. "Are you and Stiles having sex?"

The next few seconds of silence are some of the worst of Lydia's life. "What's sex?"

Lydia bites back some hysterical laughter. "Malia I'm going to be right back okay?"

"Alright."

On auto pilot Lydia leaves her room and heads downstairs. Prada's there, apparently realizing in his little brain that the strange smelling coyote isn't going to eat him. When he notices she's heading towards the back door he trots after her, darting out the door before she can to a corner of the lawn. Leaving him to his business Lydia heads out the back gate towards the skinny stretch of preserve that runs through the neighborhood.

When she feels she's a good enough distance away, though Malia will still probably be able to hear her as well as whomever other supernatural people might be near, she throws her head back and lets out a scream. Nothing banshee about it, just a good old fashioned scream of general frustration.

As it trails off she feels worlds better. Walking back to her house she checks to see if she has her phone and gratefully pulls it out.

Pulling out her phone she sends Kira a text.

_You are going to drop everything and come over _now_. I am _not_ giving Malia the sex talk by myself._

000

Malia runs; she likes the way her body feels as it pounds through the preserve. It's almost, but not quite, as good as when she'd run as a coyote. But she's found that running while human helps her organize her thoughts, and after everything Kira and Lydia, not to mention Peter, have told her she needs to get her thoughts in order.

Human minds are strange, human bodies don't make sense; it makes her more resolved than ever to become a coyote again, even if it means never finding anything about her mother or staying with Stiles –why would he do that? She'd picked _him_ to be her mate these next few years, you didn't do that to a mate.

She's not exhausted but she stops running anyways. She's out by the ridge where she and Derek had found Satomi's dead pack and with a sigh she sits down, letting her legs dangle over the edge. Below her Beacon Hills looks bright but small, and not at all like the sort of place where assassins kill supernatural creatures for stupid reasons like money.

Her legs swing as she turns her gaze up to the stars and the half full moon. Behind her is the familiar sounds of the preserve, as well as the sounds of someone walking towards her. She doesn't need to turn to know who it is. "Did they send you to find me?"

Derek sits down next to her. "No. I mean I know Stiles is looking for you, but I wasn't specifically asked to find you." He makes a face and she can smell something like dissatisfaction on him. "Not that anyone's asking me to do much these days." That's right, he's loosing his powers. Turning human.

She turns so that she's facing him completely. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He turns to face her too. "Tell you what?"

"That you and I are related!" Not that she's been around Derek a lot but he seemed the sort of person who didn't leave things like that alone.

The shock on his face and in his scent is obvious. "What?!"

There's a strange relief in knowing she's not the last person to know. "We're related. The Tates are my adopted parents. Peter's my father." On the whole it's not a _strange_ concept, she's helped raised pups that aren't hers, and very rarely taken over rearing completely. She shrugs, she might have have gotten used to it yet but she's accepted it. "I just found out yesterday." Her tone turns bitter. "Stiles and Scott were keeping it from me."

The moment those words are out of her mouth she's being pulled into a hug. She makes an annoyed yip at being so unceremoniously put off balance. But Derek makes a strangely comforting growl, his cheek brushing against hers in an achingly familiar way.

"I don't know if I should have known or guessed earlier. But they should have told you sooner, and if I'd know _I_ would have told you."

To her the words feel a little empty, but his actions convince her and she finds herself relaxing. Soon she finds herself responding to his actions in kind, rubbing her own cheeks against his and taking in his scent: pine and loam and a briny smell she thinks might be the ocean but since the last time she went there was before the crash she's not sure.

She's also not sure how long they stay like that, but it's nice. However, however there's a question she needs answered. "Are we. . .are we all killers?" Peter killed all of those people who burned his family, Derek killed Peter and had been forced to kill one of his betas; Lydia's words drift back to her "_Maybe they didn't want you knowing because the Hales aren't known for good life choices."_ And Malia finds herself wondering what the rest of the Hales had been like.

"Of people? We don't have to be, but we can. It all depends on the circumstances."

She clings tighter, because while she likes the honesty that's not what she's looking for. "I think Stiles didn't tell me because he thinks I might turn out like Peter." The only clear memory she has of before she was a coyote flickers through her mind. "And he might be right." She'd screamed at them and wished them dead and then they were and. . .an uncomfortable feeling makes itself at home in her gut. Realizing she's digging her claws into Derek's jacket she loosens her grip.

For a while Derek doesn't say anything, but he does change their positions so they're laying on the ground looking up at the stars. Eventually he does speak, "what makes you think that?"

A whine of distress builds in her throat but she forces it down –_humans_ don't make those sorts of sounds. "It's just. . .that night the car crashed I got angry, angrier than I can ever remember being. I shouted and screamed and nothing my mom could do would calm me down. I remember. . .I remember it go to the point where I was screaming that I wished she and my sister were dead." Mom had slapped her in response. Then dragged her to the car, telling her she was taking her to her father.

And on the drive there something inside her had snapped.

"Was it a full moon?" Derek's question probably shouldn't be surprising but it is.

"Yes?" And since that's not a definite answer she shrugs. "I don't know. I don't really remember those sorts of things."

He makes a soothing noise at the back of his throat. "It probably was, from the way you described it. Full moons when we're young or newly turned are difficult. I think the only reason Scott's first full moon wasn't a train wreck was because he'd been bitten the day before, and he hadn't completely finished transforming. But his second one. . .well he was kind of an asshole."

She can't really picture it, Scott's just _too_ good.

"And my own full moons, especially around puberty weren't fun. I got locked up a lot, didn't really have all that much control, and yeah, I got angry a lot too. Said a lot of things I didn't mean, but my family understood and forgave me. Full moons lower our inhibitions and filters, make us do and say things we normally wouldn't."

_This_ is what she wanted to hear, that what happened to her wasn't anything special; that other like her knew and understood what she'd gone through.

Derek surprises her by turning his head and kissing her forehead. "Saying those things doesn't make you a killer. And the accident might be your fault, but that doesn't mean you're to blame." Just barely she can see him frown. "Your mom should have known what would happen to you during a full moon."

Malia lets herself scoot closer; he wasn't as warm as he should have been, but there's comfort in having another body so close to hers. "Thank you."

He snorted. "No problem, anyways what else are cousins for?"

At least she knows that's one of those questions you're not supposed to answer, and his words cause a warmth to grow in her chest.

She might not know about how to feel about Peter being her father, but she thinks she's okay with calling Derek her cousin.

00000

So probably a bit slow compared to some chapters but, I feel it's a useful one.

Next week: Jordan, Lydia, and the lakehouse.


	8. Chapter 8

. . .so I nearly forgot it was Sunday today. . .oops, I guess I was too excited about winning NaNoWriMo, and caught up in trying to figure out what to do in chapter 13.

Hope you enjoy the chapter though, lots of good Marrish stuff.

00000

Her phone goes off unexpectedly Sunday afternoon, and she nearly knocks it off her vanity in her rush to answer. She doesn't recognize the number but she knows she should answer anyways. "Hello?"

"Lydia, it's me Parrish."

"Jordan, good afternoon." She hopes for whatever reason he's called it's not to tell her about yet another horrible crisis.

"Afternoon, look is this a good time for you?"

She glances at the bottles of nail polish she'd lined up, she could just do it later. "Sure. What's up?"

"Look, I uh, got Meredith's effects released from Eichen house." _Oh_. "Do you want them?"

"I," certainty fills her. "Yes. I'll be right over." She hangs up before he can answer and taking a few deep breaths she saves Jordan's number in her contacts. Once she feels composed enough she gets up, slips her shoes on, and heads out.

Jordan's waiting for her at the front desk, a storage box in his hands. "Here." He holds it out.

Arching an eyebrow she takes it, disturbed at how light it is, "shouldn't I be signing my life away before you give this to me."

Pink faintly stains his cheeks. "Actually I signed for all of it, so technically it's mine, but I felt you might want a look through them."

"Oh," now she's the one blushing. "Thank you. Uh. . .since they're yours do you want to come with me? I mean, I. . .don't really want to be alone right now." It escapes her in a bit of a rush, but she's not going to regret saying it, he's calming. And he'll protect her if he needs to.

Dear lord, even his _ears _turn pink. "I uh. . .have work." Disappointment flares through her and it must show on her face because Jordan quickly backtracks. "But I'm sure Stilinski will give me the rest of the day off if I ask him."

Lydia gives a tiny nod.

He goes off back into the bullpen and she retreats to an out of the way part of the entrance, the too light box in hand; part of her wants to tear it open right then and there, as if seeing what's inside will tell her why there's clearly not enough to encompass all of Meredith Walker's life.

But before she can entertain any more of those thoughts Jordan returns, slipping on a jacket. "Do you want to drive or I?"

She holds the box back out to him. "I'll drive." He dutifully follows her to her car and gets in. As she pulls out of the station part of their conversation on Friday comes back. She drums her fingers against the steering wheel for a few moments as she merges into traffic, before she finally asks. "You said you'd explain glamour to me."

He gives a soft snort. "I guess I did, didn't I? Well normally I'd try and give a practical demonstration, but since you're driving we'll hold off on that until later if you really want to see it."

"Thanks for that." She starts taking the route to the lake house on autopilot, and how sad is that that she can get to the lake house without even thinking about it? "The five minute explanation will do just fine."

"We should turn back and start over then 'cause this might take seven."

His tone's so deadpan that it takes her a second to realize he's joking; laughter burst forth from her, and despite the situation she feels lighter. Taking a hand off the wheel she reaches over and gives him a light shove. "Shut up and talk."

"The paradox of my life. Alright, so glamour can take one of two forms. A The first straight up illusion, basicly like a mirage in that it looks completely real until you're right there and touching it. It can be put on anything: people, places, things and take any form: making yourself look more attractive, making something look like it's something else, etc."

She finds herself baring her teeth at a driver who nearly cuts her off.

Jordan takes her bout of road rage in stride, which seems odd for a deputy. "The second form is more like hypnotism: an added omph, if you will, to your words, making people more likely to agree with you or to do what you're asking them to do. Case in point me with the CDC agents; I wanted a suit and I didn't want them to ask questions and that's exactly what I got. It doesn't have as many limitations, but the ramifications can be worse. At the very least you can addict someone to it, their mind can't function without the glamour."

"There's something worse than addiction?" Which feels a bit like a stupid question, because _of course _there are things worse than addiction.

"You can drive the person you're glamouring insane, if they're human."

Even though she's alone on the road she still clicks her turn signal as she turns onto the driveway that meanders to the lake house. "And every faerie can do this?" It's a little terrifying to contemplate really, the sort of thing that makes her surprised the supernatural haven't been discovered yet –but then again when you can make someone believe they haven't seen anything maybe it's no surprise at all.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him shrug. "The strength varies from fae to fae, but yes; it's an innate talent that's helped us to survive as long as we have."

The lake house is as boring and placid as ever, Lydia'll be glad when they've finally sold it. As she's unlocking the front door her phone rings. With a tiny sigh she give Parrish Meredith's box again and pulls her phone out, grimacing when she sees Stiles' name. But she still hits the 'answer' button. "What now?"

If he's put off by her tone it doesn't seem to stop him. "Hi Lydia! So! In the general tone of sharing things and telling other people about plans. . .we'rekindofplanningonkillingScott."

She nearly drops her phone, and she's kind of glad Jordan's the only one around to observe her awkward fumble. "What?!"

"Hey! It's the best plan we could come up with to draw the Benefactor out! Tell him about a kill but don't provide visual confirmation, force him to come and see for himself." His voice goes a little sharp, clearly offended –and she hadn't actually said much of anything.

Lydia starts pacing, she can't help it she needs to do _something_ otherwise she's liable to start throwing priceless objects into walls, or through windows. "No Stiles! That's the complete opposite of a 'best plan'." She makes a noise of frustration. "Okay fine, _how_ are you planning on doing this?"

"Kira's gonna do her kitsune magic and we'll run him to the hospital." She's not sure if them doing it in such a public place is a good or bad thing, on one hand lots of witnesses, on the other hand lots of possible victims. Then again most of the assassin's haven't killed any, or many, civilians –she guesses that comes with the territory of being a 'professional'.

She stops and takes a deep breath. "Alright, is there a time limit? And how are you going to bring him back?" Which out of all the questions seems the most important, even if she wonders if she's even really a part of the pack.

"We've figured forty minutes, and Kira's gonna do her kitsune magic." His tone's so 'duh' it's annoying.

"So good luck with that then." Before he can respond to that she hangs up, takes yet another deep breath and rubs the bridge of her nose for a few seconds, then steps inside.

"You alright?" Oh good, Jordan'd closed the door behind them.

"Yes, no. I just. . ." Somehow, actually no not _somehow_ she just _does _it, she relays what Stiles told her to Jordan while also composing a text to Peter, because if anyone needed to know about this current run of shenanigans it was him. Sending the text off she pockets her phone. "I could use a drink? Could you?" Though even as she suggests it she finds herself debating on whether or not 'drink' means alcohol or tea these days.

She actually jumps in surprise when she feels Jordan's hands wrap around her wrists, a quick glance tells her he set Meredith's box down by a side table, his thumbs already rubbing soothing circles over her pulse. "Lydia, close your eyes and take more deep breaths, or you'll give yourself an hysteric."

While she does close her eyes, she only takes two deep breaths before speaking again. "You know hysteric is an inherently sexist word, because _clearly_ only women can become overly emotional and overwrought. All the Victorian connotations don't help, and neither does the fact that it means 'wandering womb' because the Greeks were crazy like that." Stiles isn't the only one who can sometimes rattle off useless information.

"Alright then, close your eyes and take deep breaths otherwise you'll drive yourself crazy with pointless worry." She can hear the smile in his voice. "Now come on, what's really worrying you about all this?"

Lydia lets herself sink to the floor, because she doesn't think she can stand for a moment longer, dragging Jordan along with her. "It's just that, Scott and Stiles have both said I'm part of the pack, but when it gets time to make decisions or plans they never ask me for anything. They've already decided to do this stupid idiotic plan, but they never got in touch with me earlier to ask if I had any suggestions for drawing the Benefactor out."

"And do you, have any suggestions?" Jordan sounds as calm and steady as ever and she appreciates that.

"No," her breathing's turning shaky and she's afraid she might start crying. "But that doesn't mean I can't contribute. At the very least I would have talked them out of _this_ plan; so they tell the Benefactor they can't provide visual confirmation, so what? Do they think that'd be enough to draw him out? If they can't provide confirmation that just means the Benefactor doesn't have to pay them, and if Scott's actually dead than so much the better. And then he can reallocate that 25 million to other people on the list, or use it to make a new part."

Which is what really worries her, because Peter's not in the deadpool, and neither are the Mahealani's. But as far as they know they've decoded all of the deadpool. Why is Derek on the list when he's basically human now? What's the difference?

Jordan surprises her by pulling her into a hug. "Hey, you'll be okay. At the very least I'll be there whenever you need me, and I'd hope Peter would too since you're together."

She lets herself relax into the hug and return it. And she does find his words comforting, because at least _someone_ will be there for her. But before she can thank Jordan her phone buzzes, letting her know she's got a text. Untangling herself from Jordan she looks down to see it's Peter.

_I don't know if I should be afraid or thank them for doing us all a favor. I'll try and encourage Kate to head over, see if we can kill two birds with one stone._ She can't help the lip twitch.

Her phone buzzes again. _So I'd suggest staying away from the hospital for the foreseeable future. _

"Everything alright?"

She looks back up at him, "yeah. Things are okay now." Though part of her is hesitant in trusting Peter to not go overboard; Beacon Hills General hasn't had the best track record recently. Putting her phone away she slowly stands, then walks over and picks up the box. "Come on." She heads up the stairs.

Jordan follows her up to the soundproof room, giving a small start of surprise when she closes the door, cutting off what little sound there is outside. "Well that's unusual."

Laughing weakly she sits in front of the record player setting Meredith's box next to her. Jordan sits on her other side and she finds herself glancing at him. "Have you look through these yet?"

He shakes his head. "No, I, uh, thought it would be a little rude."

Her laughter turns brittle and harsh. "Jordan, she's _dead_."

Jordan shrugs. "Doesn't mean I still can't be polite, there are ghosts after all and you never know who'll come back and when."

His words resonate strangely in her and there's a strange, foolish hope that Allison might be such a person.

Putting her hands on the tape holding the box closed she starts picking at it so she can tear it away. Next to her Jordan clears his throat and she turns slightly to see him offering her a small pocket knife. Taking it with a grateful smile she pulls the blade out and starts cutting the tape. When she finishes she closes the knife and hands it back before taking a deep breath.

She lifts the lid in an even measured pace, in a way it feels like she's turned this into a ritual of some sort. Once she's set the lid aside she glances in the box, enough to see how woefully few items are in, before reaching in and grabbing one.

An old fashioned perfume bottle, the sort Lydia's only ever seen in equally old cartoons before now, almost completely empty; she brings it up to her nose and inhales: roses and oranges. Setting it aside she reaches in again.

Dried roses, tied together with a pink silk ribbon, in a bouquet. They're old and fragile enough that Lydia fears if she hold them for too long they'll crumble. She wonders where and how and why Meredith got them. And again.

A little stuffed dog, the kind you could win at a carnival booth, and a black and white photo of Meredith. The dog is surprisingly unworn, making it feel like it was more for display than comfort. And again.

But there's nothing else inside. The life of Meredith Walker contained in only four objects. She looks over them for a moment, at a loss for words.

A few deep breaths later she feels relatively collected and starts talking, uncaring of Jordan's presence. "I'm sorry Meredith." Even if she doesn't completely feel it she means it. "I should have tried. . .smarter to figure things out on my own. I just. . ."Her voice breaks.

This time when Jordan tries to offer comfort she bats his hand aside, she can't take his comfort not now at least. "I just wish I had someone who could help me, who could have helped you. I want to _understand_." Feeling like she's on autopilot Lydia reaches out, not to Jordan but to the record player. Her hands however don't turn it on, they pick the record up and lift it off the player.

Her eyes wander over it as if the vinyl itself can give her all the answers, though she doesn't know how that'd be possible, considering there was next to nothing on it, even when you played it.

"What's that?" Her heart jumps and races at Jordan's question; she'd almost forgotten he was there.

She almost answers with 'a record' because it nearly amuses her, but instead she goes with: "I'm not really sure, I played it once and it helped me find out the first cypher key but after that all I got was static and gibberish. Like I could only listen to it once." An impulse to break it flickers through her, but it's gone so fast she doesn't even have enough time to properly react to it. "But it had to be here for a reason, no one makes a record of static and gibberish for no reason. . .at least normal people don't."

To go through the process of pressing your own record and putting on those things? There _had _to be a reason. If only she knew more, she didn't even know how mom had gotten the lake house, or who'd had it before her. Gaps in her own knowledge of her not-family that makes her think she should maybe fill them. But honestly how would she ask Natalie, mom, about that? _Why do we own a record that has nothing on it? Why do we have a soundproof room? Why haven't you ever told me about my not-grandparents?_

Maybe if she knew more about her banshee powers she'd know the answers. Her nails scratch the record as she tightens her grip. Of course a lot of things might make more sense if she had more answers: herself, the Benefactor, Peter, Scott's current run of actions.

_Too many questions, not enough answers._ She's fairly certain she could make that the mantra of her life. She sighs.

"Maybe. . .maybe that reason has nothing to do with you, but with someone else." Jordan speaking surprises her into dropping the record, the rim hits the carpet silently then equally silent the rest of it follows. "Maybe you using it was just happenstance."

"That's not exactly comforting." Not that she wants Jordan to hold her hand through everything.

He shrugs. "Wasn't really meant to be. But not everything in the world revolves around you. And not everything has a reason," his tone turns quiet. "Sometimes things just happen with no explanation."

Lydia thinks it's safe to read into that that something happened to Jordan and that maybe he was still searching for an answer as to why. With a soft sigh she starts putting away Meredith's belonging with the same reverence she had taking them out. The perfume bottle, the roses, the dog. Picking up the photo she actually looks at it, Meredith in black and white standing in front of a wall, looking shy and nervous. She moves to put it in the box and freezes.

"What is it?"

She moves the photo so it lines up with one of the walls of the room, did it really matter which when they all looked the same? "Does this photo look like it was taken in here?"

His hand moves to take it from her and she lets him. Watching him stare at the photo for probably much longer than he actually needed to. "It's more likely than not?" He shrugs. "You could ask you mom."

"She's not my mom," it leaves Lydia's mouth before she can stop it. "And _how _would I ask her. 'Mom do you know why a girl who's been in a mental institution for who knows how long was here long enough to get her picture taken?'" Lydia knows she's contradicting herself, saying Natalie's not her mom and then referring to her as such a sentence later, but Lydia thinks she's allowed to be confused. Was there a Changeling support group? Fae counseling?

Jordan holds out the photo, seemingly unconcerned by her words. "Still wouldn't hurt to ask her when you get the chance."

Lydia takes the photo back, "well why don't we look around first, see what we can find here." There had to be _some_ reference to Meredith if she was here. . .right? A part of her sighs and wishes she could go back to yesterday's simple problems.

"Aright, if that's what you want." It kind of amazes her how easygoing he's been about everything, she's used to dealing with Stiles who asks about a hundred questions a minute. But Jordan seems content to go along with everything she suggests, well within reason. She's sure if it came down to it he'd step up and make the hard choices, but he seems to prefer letting others make decisions.

For some reason this doesn't stress out Lydia as much as she'd thought it would. At least someone's trusting her to make decisions of some sort. She turns to leave but halfway through she stops and frowns. "There used to be a stain here." She narrows her eyes at the spot it should have been in.

"What?" Jordan sounds about as confused as she feels.

"The night after we first met, I kind of had to throw a party here, someone got into my grandmother's wine cellar and opened a few bottles. Some of it spilled in here, I remember freaking out about it because we're trying to sell the house and stains make it less likely." Walking a few steps she kneels where she's pretty sure the stain should be. "But it's not here anymore."

Jordan joins her, one of his hands running through the carpet for a few moments. "Maybe someone cleaned it up?"

Lydia shakes her head. "Mom and I are the only ones who have keys to the place and she hasn't been here since. . .a week after the last full moon?" And how is this her life that she's keeping track of events by when they happened in relation to the full moon. "And the last time I was here was last Sunday." This time realizing it's only been a week since everything seemed to _really_ start, is more of a shock than it had been yesterday.

Staring at the pristine carpet she feels at loose ends. "There was a stain here, I swear."

He meets her eyes, "I believe you Lydia. Here," he takes her hands in his own. "You can show me."

Before she can ask what he means he continues. "Close your eyes. Picture the whole thing in your mind: size, shape, what it felt like if you touched it, how it smelled, the colors." Lydia felt her eyes slide close as he spoke, his calm even tone unhurried. She gives a little start when he puts her hands on the carpet, her fingers curling and grabbing some of the fibers.

It's easy to recall the stain, how she'd felt so stressed that she over-reacted; in a way feeling like Lady Macbeth, no matter how hard she worked the stain wouldn't come out. How it looked a little like old blood, dark and a smidge brown. "Okay, I've got it."

"Now just. . .let the image out. Just picture it on the carpet, or whatever works best for you." Jordan's tone grows a little annoyed, not with her but with himself she thinks.

However she's sure she gets at least his intention. And thinks to herself _when I open my eyes the stain's going to be on the carpet right where it should be._ Exhaling she opens her eyes and looks. There stain's exactly where she remembers it being, though there's something a little off to it. Reaching out to touch it it shimmers away.

Jordan grins at her. "Good job."

Pride fills her as she flushes at the praise. "But it didn't stay long." Still the fact that she _did_ something is accomplishment enough for her at the moment.

"That's alright, it'll get easier with practice." He stands and offers her a hand up. "Now come on we should see what we can find about Meredith."

Right. Taking his hand she stands and returns to the record player where she'd set the photo. Scooping it up and then heading for the door. It's almost a relief to leave the soundproof room, it's been filled with so many negative emotions and connotations that stepping out of it feels like breathing in fresh air.

It makes her feel like more's possible and she almost eagerly heads for the stairs, and almost, but not quite, bounce down them. The creaks almost musical sounding.

They're noisy enough that she can tell when Jordan joins her on them. "Lydia."

His tone makes her stop in the middle of the stairs and turn back up to face him. "Yes?"

He takes a few steps down, "this is probably something I should have told you in our first conversation. . ."

Lydia arches an eyebrow "Considering I wasn't really buying what you were selling at the time it might have made things worse."

The corner of his mouth ticks up in a smile. "Regardless I should have told you. You're not just any old changeling or, to be perfectly honest, I might not have told you," he pauses, a thoughtful look on his face. And she feels a strange, curious feeling rising in her chest. "Or I might have, fae banshee are rare, and you'd be be an asset to whichever court had you in its ranks."

"How many courts are there?" Sure she wants to know what he's trying to get at, but she also finds herself curious about the fae and everything to do with them; from a more accurate source than the internet and books.

An expression she finds she can't parse crosses his face. "There are two: Winter and Summer. I myself am a knight of Winter."

Well she supposes if they truly aren't human it makes more sense to delineate between them elementally/seasonally than with a good-evil scale like she's sometimes seen applied. "So as a knight are you allowed to do as you please and go where you will?" She definitely feels some amusement about the fact she's referred to him in terms of a knight without knowing he really was one.

The earlier smile returns. "No. I'm here because of a mission to queen sent myself and many of my fellows on. Which neatly brings us back to the point." Once again he descends more stairs, enough this time that he's below her but at eye level. "_You _are that mission, the missing Winter princess, stolen away for a purpose we still don't know."

Feeling a little wobbly in the knees she leans against the banister; Jordan's words playing havoc with her mind. "What?"

Almost instinctively his hands come up, one rests itself on her shoulder the other on the opposite arm. "Lydia?"

She feels photo paper buckle in her grasp and she shakes her head. "Yeah, I just wasn't expecting a bombshell quite like that." Her smile is probably as weak as she feels. "Honestly if you'd told me that the first time we'd met I _really_ wouldn't have believed you. 'You're a faerie princess' sounds like someone trying to con a ten year old."

He quickly tries to cover his laughter, leaving her free to continue down the stairs. She glances back over her shoulder to find him still on the stairway. "Come on, what we're looking for isn't going to find itself." She can realign her worldview while they look for any clues about Meredith.

Looking through the main floor neither of them find anything referencing or about Meredith –though Jordan does ask her about the trophy case for which the only response she can give is a shrug.

So they move on to the boat house, looking even more ramshackle after Liam's brief stay. Though Lydia has no idea if they'll find anything more pertinent here than they did _in_ the house; she clutches the photo of Meredith like a talisman that'll guide her to what she wants to know. But that all changes five minutes in when Jordan's head shoots up. "Your mom's coming."

Dread courses through Lydia. "Hide! She can't know you're here." Things will go from bad to worse if she knows about Jordan. . .somehow.

Gratefully he doesn't question her, just ducks behind one of the slowly rotting boats, and soon it's like he was never there. Lydia heaves a sigh of relief and makes herself look busy.

"Lydia? What are you doing here?" Even though she knew he mother was coming the woman still manages to surprise her.

"Mom! I'm looking for something. Why are _you _here?" Her eyes narrow as she gets a sneaking suspicion. "Are you _following_ me?"

For a heartbeat mom looks everywhere but at her. "Of _course_ not. I came by to tidy up for the open house."

Suspicion grows. "Which isn't until next week." Lydia makes her tone as accusing as possible.

Mom's shoulders slump. "Alright yes, but only because I'm worried about you Lydia. You've come out here almost every weekend recently, and occasionally during the week too, and I just want to know why."

She turns back to the table she was fiddling through. "I told you I'm looking for something." Lydia plays with the slightly crumpled picture of Meredith for a moment, _"Still wouldn't hurt to ask her when you get the chance."_, before turning back to her mom photo in hand. "Anything about this." She holds out the photo.

Mom takes it and blanches a little. "What are you doing with a photo of Meredith Walker?"

An unwelcome chill races down Lydia's spine and she wishes she could touch Jordan. "It was in her personal effects." She takes the photo back. "How do you know Meredith?" She feels the less she talks about how and why she has said personal effects the better.

A sigh escapes her mother and she goes over to an urn Lydia's never noticed before, picking it up and bringing it back over. "It didn't know her, but your grandmother, your father's mother, did." She holds the urn out. "These are your grandmother's ashes."

Lydia takes it, biting back the urges to say 'she's not my grandmother' and 'duh it's her ashes' as she runs her fingers over the etched words, one standing out in particular. "Grandma was at Eichen house?" Lydia doesn't really have any concrete memories of her grandmother, only a vague recollection of the smell of lilies and chrysanthemums and medicine, and the unsigned gifts of books she'd always get on birthdays and Christmas.

"In and out for as long as I can remember. Your grandfather, didn't like to talk about it, people weren't as accepting. But I remember her trying to explain it to me once, Eichen let her come to the wedding, but I remember her saying she heard voices." Mom takes the urn back. "She wanted her ashes spread over the lake when she died."

Lydia frowns. "Then why are they still in the urn?"

"Because the other part of that request was that you be the one to spread them on your eighteenth birthday."

Almost angrily Lydia yanks the urn out of her mother's grasp, screw waiting three weeks, not if it means she can get some answers _now_. Wrenching the lid off she marches over to what is now the lake archway, the doors having long since rotted away from poor care, and sticks her hand in the urn, then stops. "These aren't grandma's ashes." She doesn't know if that makes it better or worse.

"What?" Mom steps beside her. "Of course they are Lydia, I _saw_ them cremate her and put them in the urn. What else could they possibly be?"

Hoping she's wrong and that this is just a spectacularly even burn, she grabs a handful and tosses them towards the water; like iron filings to a magnet they stop in a line under the door frame. Worse it is, "it's mountain ash."

Her mom gapes. "Mountain ash?"

"Or rowan, it creates barriers, this whole place must be made of it, isn't it?" For a second she wonders why it hasn't bothered anyone, then she realizes it's because it hasn't been a closed circuit since the door rotted away.

"I don't know, maybe? Your grandfather was roaring mad when he found out she had had it built though."

"But why?" There had to be a reason, you don't just build a whole building out of mountain ash because you could.

Mom still stares at the newly made line of mountain ash. "Her will stated that all of her things be put in here." Once again she walks over the shelves and grabs a sheaf of papers. Bringing them over she flips through them slowly so Lydia can see. "It's mostly just stuff she wrote while in Eichen house, though I don't see what's important about gibberish."

Lydia holds back a not-so-sane laugh, "mom that's not gibberish."

"It's not?" Mom sounds so earnest, that Lydia almost feels embarrassed.

"No, it's a cypher." The same kind the Benefactor used. Facts like dominoes, _click click click_. "Mom are you _sure_ grandma's dead?" In this town she wouldn't put anything past her grandmother, too many people who were dead just aren't anymore.

Mom rolls her eyes. "Yes Lydia she's dead."

Lydia keeps her mouth shut, but doesn't believe her one iota. "Well thanks for clearing that up." Balancing the urn in one hand she walks over, crouches down, and picks up the lid. After attaching the lid she puts the urn back on the shelves. "Can I have her papers?" She holds out her hand expectantly.

Clearly hesitantly her mom puts the papers in her hand. "I didn't know you were into codes."

"Some people offer rewards to those who can crack seemingly impossible codes. There's supposedly a reward for the person who can crack the last part of Kryptos. Let alone what I might get paid if I could mentally and rapidly compute semi-primes." God, she would be rolling in cash if she could do that.

"What?"

Lydia _won't_ roll her eyes –though it's amusing in a strange way to realize the occasional teenage complaint about how someone as smart as her came from such unintelligent parents isn't actually valid. "Nothing mom, just that codes are interesting. Lots of math." She wonders if she could brute crack this one, or if she'll need to type it up and try and find out the cypher key.

"If you say so," mom pulls her into a hug. "I just want everything to go back the way the way it used to be."

Lydia finds herself pulling away. "We can't go back mom." She lets her hands shuffle the pages absently, trusting her instincts to put them most important first. "There's only going forward."

Natalie frowns, but leaves Lydia be, thank God. Once she's alone it feels like a weight's been lifted from her. Even more so when Jordan steps out. "Lydia. . ."

"I don't think my dad's mom is dead." It makes too much sense to Lydia. But if her grandmother is the Benefactor then why is she on the deadpool, why would the Benefactor want her own supposed granddaughter dead?

"Do you think she was a banshee?" Jordan takes one of her hands away and rubs it between his own.

"Yes, it makes sense then why Meredith would be at the house. Though I thought banshee's were rare?" Feeling like she's done with the papers for now she sets them down on the table, she'll actually look through them later.

Jordan's hand moves up slightly to gently massage her wrist. "For humans? It's probably one every two or three generations, though I could be wrong. For fae? You're a lot rarer. The fact you're a banshee surprised _me_. Let alone your mother."

Lydia starts. "You've been talking to my. . .birth mother?" She hasn't even been thinking about that.

"Of course," Jordan's lips twitch in a smile. "She is my queen, I haven't been gossiping about you, just told her the 'basics' I guess."

"Like what?"

He shrugs. "What you look like, what you're interested in, your personality. She's happy you're not terribly miserable. She wants to meet you."

Gently she extracts her hand from his and starts pacing, sometimes she thinks better when she moves. "Not. . .Not right now. There's just, too much going on." She finds the idea of meeting her biological mother both frightening and a little exhilarating.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him nod. "Of course. She's willing to wait until you're ready, though I think she'd prefer you to be ready sooner rather than later." He gives her a wan smile.

She nods, glad that that's relatively settled, and steers them back on course. "Are there any other banshee's like me?" She hopes there are, maybe she can actually learn from them.

Jordan's shoulders fall a little. "I only know of one other and. . ."

Drifting off never boded well. "And?"

"She's nothing but a sorrow woman now." He takes her hands in his own, stopping her movements. "If you meet her you'll understand why banshees of legend are described the way they are." Even though the air is chilly his cool hands feel good holding her own.

"Do you know what happened to her?" Lydia finds she has too many questions to hold any back now.

A faint smile twitches at Jordan's mouth. "Once she was Queen under the Waves, and her husband the king."

"There were more than two courts?" She probably should have waited to ask but it feels like a very important question, especially considering barely an hour ago he'd told her there were only two.

"Yes, once there were many courts, but most have fallen for one reason or another. Those who survived have sought refuge in Summer or Winter as their natures dictate. Now shall I finish?" At least his tone is teasing.

But it still makes her flush. Extracting her hands from his she takes a seat on the only bench that looks like it will hold. "Alright, I'll try to be quiet."

The twitching smile returns. "As I was saying: Danu was Queen under the Waves and she ruled well with her husband Manannán. They had three beautiful children, and she had just given birth to their fourth when the sickness struck.

"No one knows where it came from or what caused it. But it spread faster than any sickness we had ever experienced before and soon only Danu remained healthy. Deciding to risk her very life she escaped the quarantine, and searched for the Caldron of Dagda in the hopes that it could be used to save her people.

"She found it, but when she returned to R'lyeh it was far too late. And all she could do was scream over the dead around her. All had died, her court, her three sons, her daughter, all.

"Save for Manannán, who had somehow escaped death, but had fallen into a coma, from which he still has not woken. And Danu took to mourning, and has remained so for over five hundred years. As far as I know she hasn't left the rooms she was given since she sought sanctuary in Winter."

Sympathy for the woman rises inside Lydia, and her hands twist. "Is that why you were worried about me?"

Jordan blinks. "Come again?"

"When I went into the quarantine?"

He steps over to her and kneels. "Yes. No one's allowed in R'lyeh still, but for all I knew someone had snuck in and replicated the sickness. I. . .don't know what I would have done if that had infected you."

A pleasing warmth fills her at those words and she smiles. "Thank you." She means it too, debt or no debt.

"It is. . ." He looks genuinely stunned and she feels a little bemused as she watches him sit on the bench, a little distance away from her. "I. . .It is my honor and pleasure. When we made the vow to do our best to find you we all knew we would also do our utmost to keep you safe." His weight shifts, making the bench creak, and he looks out the broken window. "Granted I'm sure we all thought we would find you somewhere somehow without obligations and cares and could just whisk you back to the Mound with nary a care."

He turns back to her. "But hopes and thoughts are rarely reality."

For the next few minutes the only sounds are those of the lake and the wildlife, and Lydia lets herself close her eyes and think of nothing more than those sounds. Content for a short while at least to focus on something simple.

Jordan's the one who breaks the silence "Lydia?" She doesn't know why but his tone is slightly worrying.

But she needs to know what he clearly wants to ask her. "What?"

He shifts so they're sitting side by side, and he takes her hands. "I want to meet Peter."

_Oh._ "Tomorrow," get it done fast and quick. "After school," she adds because she's missed enough as it is.

Jordan nods.

00000

Next week: Peter and Jordan finally met, sex, and Malia.

0

Lydia's comment about Kryptos isn't true, but her one about semi-primes is (a semi-prime is a number created by multiplying two primes together and they make up every single internet transaction you make, so being able to quickly calculate which two primes make up the semi-prime you have? Yeah, Lydia would be rich, though on the run from the law most likely.)

Also if you love this pairing as much as I do then drop by We Conquer Death (link in my profile0!


	9. Chapter 9

Not going to lie folks, this is definitely one of my favorite chapters.

Also with this chapter we've kind of come full circle, since part of this first scene was the second of the two drabbles that inspired this whole story.

00000

This isn't the first time Peter's seen Lydia in the company of this deputy, while slinking around trying to recall he shouldn't kill Kate while they're _temporarily_ aligned, her new toy he guesses; the wolf in him growls at that, because she's _his, _she chose _him_, his is the name she cries out when she orgasms. She bears bits of _his_ scent. Unless this boy can prove himself a better man than Peter he isn't going to leave her. Even if the boy can prove himself Peter probably wouldn't leave; the wolf might willingly step aside but he's just as much man as wolf.

But it's the first time they've approached him, and at the loft no less. And he finds himself unsure of how to proceed. If it were Lydia alone he'd snap, snark and flirt with her in his own vicious fashion and hope for sex; but that's not as feasible with this stranger she's apparently bringing into their little game. So he arches an eyebrow and decides to wait the proper course out. "You've brought me a new chew toy Lydia? How thoughtful."

She snorts. "Dog jokes? Really? You're usually not so self-demeaning." Yes well, she's not forced to see what's hers gallivanting with some…pup. Who's handsome in a strange way, true, but he finds he has to question her tastes a little –he looks far too earnest.

"Well you don't usually bring fresh meat to our little tête-a-têtes."

The deputy, who's not in his uniform at the moment –not that that changes Peter's perception of him, stiffens and crosses his arms. Well at least the boy has a bit of backbone. Peter inhales to try and catch a bit of his scent, and finds them strangely muted and varied, more varied than a human's should be…curious.

"Jordan asked to come, he wanted to talk to you."

Curiouser, and curiouser, even his wolf's interested but also annoyed at her use of the boy's first name. Peter turns his full attention to the other man and meets his pale green eyes. "Well?"

Deputy steps in front of Lydia and rests in a surprisingly ready stance. "I was hoping it'd just be Peter and I Lydia, if that's alright."

Poor Lydia looks so flabbergasted by that, and he has to bite back a smile. She narrows her eyes and glares at the back of the deputy's head, "fine. Though if he starts murdering you don't expect any help from me."

A laugh escapes the deputy. "I think I'll be alright."

With a harrumph Lydia wanders off to the kitchen, far enough away that she shouldn't hear anything. Peter crosses his own arms, "well, what do you want puppy?"

The deputy laughs again though softer this time –an absent part of Peter thinks it's a nice laugh– but then his expression turns serious. Peter's mild irritation turns to shock when the man _kneels _and reaching out takes both of Peter's hands, turning them slightly so he can kiss his pulse points. The scents of winter, sap, and leather assault Peter's nose. "I wanted to thank you, Peter Hale, for what you did to Lydia. If you hadn't done so I don't think I ever would have found her."

Peter…doesn't know how to respond to that. In fact he's _floored_ by these actions; he did what he did to Lydia to survive, to be able to continue protecting his family, with no thought to anything else, and he's being _thanked_ for his selfishness? _His continuing selfishness_, a part of him points out; he's still connected to her after all –though this time he'd rather not find out what'd happen if he died again. So he stands, staring at this kneeling man who he realizes isn't human at all, silent and for the first time in recent memory unsure.

So Peter shakes his hands free, more gently than he intended to, and takes a step back. Then does his best to shore up his facade of indifference. "I must say it's not what I was expecting from you."

Jordan, Peter wonders why, after that little show he's so willing to use the pup's first name, stands. "Is that good or bad?" A bit of a smile twitches his lips.

"Indifferent," unless the boy can scent lies he'll be good with that answer; he's been rattled and it's affecting him more than it should. Plus the fact he's still kneeling? Peter's never been afraid to admit, at least to himself, what he finds attractive or intriguing. And that? That makes Peter want to find out how much he can use up the poor boy before he says 'enough'.

Slowly Jordan rises, this close Peter's a little surprised to realize they're the same height, and that twitch of Jordan's turns into a full smile. "What if I said you weren't exactly what I was expecting either?"

It makes Peter want to ask what he was expecting, but he has a pretense to maintain, and asking after the opinion of a pup like him, even if he is unusual, isn't part of it. "Well then I'd say I'm glad I sidestepped your expectations." Peter would hate to be so boorish as to be predictable.

"There's time yet either way," while his face remains open his scent turns strange: an acrid smoky smell that makes Peter's wolf recoil. In fact his wolf's reaction is so strong that it takes all of Peter's willpower to not wolf out or mimic the action.

Once again Jordan steps into his space. "Anew I thank you," it's hard to tell if the boy means it or if his words are rote. "And I owe you a debt as well for what you have done. Yours to recall as you see fit."

The longer they talk the more Jordan becomes a puzzle, and if there's one thing Peter enjoys more than a puzzle, it's a puzzle that _owes him a favor_. There are lots of ways Peter could use that favor right now, especially from someone who's also police, but he wants to save it for now; savor and marvel at it.

"I appreciate it deputy." He gives a deep toothy smile. "And I won't hesitate to let you know."

Jordan's nod is deft and final. "Good. Let Lydia know she can call me later?"

It irks him but, "I will." he sees Jordan to the door, overall feeling a little like he's been put through his paces –but he's not sure if he's been found wanting or not.

Going to the kitchen he finds Lydia perched on the counter, bare feet swinging, finishing off a cup of yogurt. "So, how'd it go?"

He can't help but roll his eyes. "Wel obviously I didn't kill him so I'm not sure what more you want." Although Parrish is the sort of man Peter thinks he wouldn't kill without good reason to, especially considering he doesn't know what exactly the other man is.

Lydia shrugs as she sets her spoon and cup down. "I'm just curious to know what you talked about."

"And you're just going to have to stay curious sweetheart," almost impulsively he reaches out and taps her nose; it's more habit than anything that keeps him from telling her, but it also feels like that conversation was private and not meant to be shared. "I think it'll be good for you."

She narrows her eyes. "You? Keeping secrets? Color me surprised." She doesn't sound disappointed, but she certainly smells it. Something in him twinges, but it's easy to ignore.

"If I thought it important, I _would_ tell you Lydia." He should probably make that clear before she makes any other assumptions. In the safety of his own mind at least he's not ashamed to admit her safety is just as important to him now as Derek's is. "When have I ever hidden anything important from you?"

Well besides the bond.

Her shoulders slump. "Never as far as I can tell." She slides off the counter and he finds himself struck again at how small she is, the sort of small his wolf pays attention to. Her scent grows conflicted, but despite that conflict she speaks. "We think my grandma might be the Benefactor," it comes out of her in a rush, like she's almost afraid of saying it.

"Do tell," he finds himself embracing the eager anger that curls open in him, _finally a lead_.

She does, with surprising candor: finding the cypher amongst her grandmother's things, the urn full of mountain ash, the other's realization about what the Benefactor must be after the hospital –sadly none of them killed Kate, a missed opportunity really.

It's the best news he's had all week. Leaning down he kisses her, nice and long.

When he pulls away she's pleasantly flushed and a little short of breath, but still she smiles "By the way, you totally owe me." The words have him tensing, _how could she know?_, but the tone is amused.

"Oh? For what?" He finds himself bracing for the worst.

"I had to give Malia the sex talk, and explain to her how human pregnancy works and menstruation and all that wonderful stuff." As she speaks she steps closer to him, not that there's much distance between them anyways.

He completes what he's sure is her intended action by wrapping an arm around her and pulling him flush against him; mentally relaxing at her words. "Yes, I guess I do owe you. Though to be fair, you _did_ promise to look after her."

Even though she still doesn't know it makes him feel guilty, a feeling he's never liked; and no one can make him feel guilty like Lydia Martin, not even Talia at her most disappointed Alpha-est had made him feel like Lydia does.

The best option would be to tell her of course, but he knows that telling her will ruin _this_, this strange glorious thing between them. Born of just enough trust and the need for control.

Speaking of control. . .he knows just how best to distract himself _and _give Lydia the reward she's clearly asking for. He smiles, doing his best to make sure it's wonderfully wicked. "So Lydia, shall we do things my way this time around?" It's been a while since he spoke those words, and he hopes she remembers. Either way he's only half sure she'll say yes. Reaching down he toys with the hem of her dress relishing the shiver she gives him.

"And what does doing thing's 'your way' entail?" Her bravado is wonderfully enticing.

The hand on her hem drifts further to graze her thighs. "Well definitely a spanking." He feels she's been asking for it the past few months. And her ass will look so lovely in red. The fact that it's arousing to Lydia, her juices smell so _sweet_, makes it even better. "Possibly some tying up, maybe a blindfold." The image of Lydia helpless to him is one he's always enjoyed. He gives a careless shrug. "We'll see where the evening takes us."

Annoyance flares from her scent, pepper sharp as she opens her mouth to protest he's sure. Quickly his other hand covers her mouth. "I promise you Lydia, I _will_ ask you before I do anything." Her enjoying this experience is important to him, enjoying it means he can do it to her again. Enjoying it means she might trust him a little more.

"Safeword?" There's something remarkable about the way she manages to keep herself this together while he's teasing her like this.

He hums nonsense as he thinks, letting the hand on her thigh brush and tap. At the moment she practically smells only of pure sugar she's so aroused, but he can still catch the barest hints of her base scent. "Oleander."

"Any reason?"

He loves it when she gets breathy, and he has to chuckle. "It's your scent sweetheart, light, but oh so deadly."

Her expression shifts as if she's not sure whether to be proud of that or not; the answer of course being that she should. In the end though, she nods. "Alright."

Peter lets his wolf come a little closer to the surface, giving her a smile full of teeth ready to rend and tear. Letting her go he takes a few steps back to an armchair and sits down. "Strip."

A shiver wracks her as she reaches behind her for the zipper of her dress, and it takes him a moment to realize her reaction stems from his voice. _Well, well_. Her dress unceremoniously slides to the ground as she steps out of her shoes, but then she stops. Her underwear's as pretty as always –yellow this time– but it's not quite what he wants.

Flickers of anger pass through him, though for him at least it doesn't detract from his own arousal. "Did I stay stop? _Strip,_"the anger seeps into his voice but from the way she's reacting he doesn't think that's a bad thing.

She quietly moans, he's always liked how quiet she is during sex it makes everything feel that much more illicit, as her hands rise up to unhook her bra. Then she wiggles out of her underwear and she's lovely and naked before him. She's shivering a little from the cool air of the loft, nipples pebbling and begging for bites.

Shifting, he's starting to get a little uncomfortable, he points to the ground with a clawed finger. "Crawl."

Red creeps up her chest and onto her neck, and he almost calls her over immediately so he can lick and suck at that lovely color, as she gets on her hands and knees and sinuously begins to crawl.

"Such a good girl," he croons when she reaches him, gently putting clawed fingers on her chin and raising her up to her knees. "So lovely." He leaves faint red lines on her skin as he pulls his hand away, and pats his lap.

With less confidence than he would have liked she climbs up. And she's far too tense, but at least he can help with that. Reaching out he pulls her towards him, tucking her face in the crook of his neck. "Take deep breaths." As she does so his claws gently, he doesn't want to break skin this time, press into her neck and skull and begin kneading.

Finally she's pliant and he finds himself giving a pleased rumble as he begins to position her. Widening his legs he keeps one bent and extends the other, resting the bend of her hips on the bent leg and pushing the rest of her down so her head is almost touching the ground, shoulders resting on his shin. "Comfortable?" One hand reaches down and rubs the middle of the back while the other played with her ass, slipping down for the briefest of moments to play with her slit.

"Yes," she grinds out, though her tone suggests she's a little annoyed with him.

Well he can live with that. Raising his hand he brings it down in a playful slap.

She jumps and twitches at the contact and the hand still on her back rubs a small circle. "Excellent dear." Imperceptibly she relaxes, and taking advantage of that he smacks her again. She squeaks in response.

_Interesting_. He keeps going until her ass is somewhere between pink and red and warm. She moans as his hand rubs and plumps. When he slips his fingers inside her cunt it ripples around them and she whimpers as he tips her over into orgasm.

Now she's well and truly limp and she barely even starts when he lays a final slap on her. Once more he shifts her, her legs spread wide on either side of his own and her torso leaning towards him again, her head lolling against his shoulder. "Mmmmm. . ."

Laughter rumbled in his chest. "Now that I have you at my mercy. . ."

Her giggle is sleepy and sets off a strangeness in his chest. "Peter."

"I find myself curious about your deputy." It's probably a little mean asking her about him while she's high on orgasm, but well, he's that sort of man.

He doesn't even need to see her face to feel the burn of her flush spread across it. "Why do you care?" She somehow manages to sound rebellious. "It's not like anything's going to happen." Her tone turns downtrodden, something Lydia should never be.

Lacing his arms under her legs he hoists her up a little and stands, walking towards his bed. "I care because he clearly interests you." With an easy movement, well not so easy, he lays her face down on the bed, she looks much more wrecked than the last time she was there, and he feels no shame in being smug.

Leaving her there he walks over to his closet and noisily rummages around, despite the fact it's well organized and what he's looking for is right where it should be; he wants her tense and anxious again. Finally he returns to the bed, a coil of rope in his hands. Very pointedly he lays the rope down next to her and strips down to his boxers.

Climbing onto the bed he sits next to her. "You asleep dear?" Considering she hasn't reacted to the rope he thinks she might be, and unable to resist he reaches out and pinches her ass.

She squirms. "Not asleep," she mutters. "And don't pinch me." She narrows her eyes at the rope. "What kind is it?"

He bites back a laugh. "It's silk dear, I'm not crass enough to settle for nylon." His hand cups her still warm and lovely ass for a moment before smoothing up to her waist. "Do you want to fuck him Lydia?" The hackles of his wolf rise at the thought; he lets his claws tickle the base of her spine.

Her back arches at the sensation. "I. . ." she seems to struggle with herself, if her facial expressions and scent are anything to go by. "Yes. Though it doesn't mean I'm going to," it's almost, but not quite a backtrack; however her honesty's something that should be rewarded. So he'll let the subject drop for now, though it tugs and teases at the back of his mind. A pebble in his shoe.

Flattening his hand he runs it up her back to cup the back of her head. "So how shall we do this sweetheart? On your back or on your knees?" While he thinks he'd prefer her on her knees, and not just for the submissive aspect of it –her ass might not appreciate rubbing against fabric, he'll leave it up to her.

She focuses completely on the rope, as if it'll somehow give her the answer. He gives her time, letting it build anticipation for himself; everything will be worth it in the end. "Knees," she finally answers.

He grins smugly, even if she can't see it, and begins moving her around, making sure she's comfortable and in roughly the exact position he wants her in. Then he reaches over and grabs the rope. If making her comfortable had been perfunctory this he takes his time with; granted he's not going to go elaborate with his knotwork, but at the very least he'll make it an experience for Lydia.

By the time he's finished she's twitching and clearly ready for the next round. Her arms are tied from the elbow down, and then attached to his headboard. And even if she is mostly resting on pillows, she'd still been too limp to rest on her own knees, she's beautiful.

Shucking his boxers he grabs a condom as he crawls up behind her. As he puts it on he eagerly stares at her, the cant of her hips, the way her hair clings to her back. "Ah, you look a treat dear."

"Peeteer," it's a wonderfully petulant whine, and as if in retaliation he lightly slaps her ass again.

"Patience dear, and all will be rewarded." He plumps her ass and spreads her legs a little further, her pussy a delightful sight. One of his thumbs drift up a little however, resting just barely on the pucker of her anus. "Something a little different?" Not that he'd do that to her, not without much more prep work. But he's still curious.

She twitches and shifts. "No."

Well that's definite. His thumb drifts down to her pussy, content to stroke her labia. Which draws a moan from her. "Well maybe another time." He doesn't give her a chance to respond, they can talk about it more later, and sinks his thumb in, though not too far pressing and rubbing against her inner flesh.

"Ah!" It's almost the loudest sound he's heard he make, and he relishes it; though not for long. When he removes his thumb she tries to follow but he tuts and he doesn't even need to look at her face to know she's pouting.

He doesn't let it bother him though, moving up to lay his chest over her back and lining himself up. "Ready?" He whispers in her ear.

Lydia arches her back, trying to get closer. "Just shut up and fuck me Peter."

A laugh escapes him but he dutifully drives himself in, pressing her forward. She moans. And he gets to work.

Grabbing her hips almost violently, though he doesn't use his claws, he pounds in and in. In a bit of contradicting gentleness he noses at her jaw, rubbing his cheek against her neck.

She bares her neck with a sigh after a particularly powerful thrust and well, he can't resist. Moving down he starts to nibble.

"Pe. . .Peter. . ." He's surprised she's still coherent.

Tortuously he slows his thrusts. "Yes Lydia?"

It takes her a few seconds to speak again. "I have. . .ooooohh, school tomorrow."

Which means no visible hickeys, no plausible lies for her to have to come up with to explain them. "Shoulder?" It comes out more of a grunt than he'd like, but he finds he _has_ to bite her, to make his claim in some fashion, regardless of whether or not anyone sees it.

"F. . .fine."

He lets a hand slip down and tease her clit as he moves his mouth to her shoulder. For now he just lets his teeth scrape and nibble, biting her now would be _too_ much pain for her. So he'll wait, picking up his thrusts again and letting his fingers stroke and press at her labia and clit.

She whimpers and he feels her start to clench and flutter around her; and so he strikes. She wails as his teeth dig in, but even that is quiet. And just as quickly as he'd bitten down he releases her, gently lapping up the blood and drawing out her pain.

Another sigh leaves her as she slumps even further forward and his hand slides back up to her hip as he starts working on his own orgasm.

When it's over he has to stop himself from slumping on her back and forcing her to take his weight. Instead he pulls out, deals with the condom, then crawling back on the bed he slowly starts to untie Lydia. She sighs when he finishes and he spends the next few minutes rubbing her forearms, leeching any discomfort and making sure the faint welts are fading.

Satisfied that's she's relatively okay he maneuvers her under the sheets and tucks her in. "Take a nap and I'll make dinner alright?"

"You trying to get me ready for round two?"

He's not sure if she's teasing him or asking the question seriously, either way it still makes him laugh softly and kiss her. "Why don't we figure that out afterwards."

After dressing he goes downstairs and starts poking around in the kitchen, at least Derek still keeps his fridge and pantry well stocked.

000

Gladly Malia lets herself get lost in dancing, it's fun and easy and no one expects anything from her. Occasionally she'll open the flask she stole from her dad and take a drink; she knows it won't get her drunk, but she enjoys the burning sensation as the pungent amber liquid goes down her throat.

Under the pounding music she hears familiar footsteps and turns. Scott looks worried. "Malia. . ."

She tosses back another drink, "are you here to apologize?" For a while it felt like the people who tried to help her at Eichen only told her about apologies and how she needed to use them, with herself and towards others. She still doesn't get it though.

Scott gives an unhappy frown and he starts reeking of guilt. "We had good reason to Malia. And you know you can't get drunk right?"

"Duh," contemptuously she drinks again before tucking the flask in her shorts. "That's what sire said you'd say." Part of her conversation with Peter returns to mind._"Just to show you how predictable Scott can be I'll tell you everything he'll say to you next time you see him."_

His face scrunches with confusion. "Who?"

A particularly rapid beat starts up and she finds herself swaying to it. "Peter, he's my sire." That's how she's keeping track of it in her head anyway, Peter's her sire and Henry Tate's her dad. "We talked."

Scott tries to grab her but she sways out of the way. "Malia, you can't trust Peter."

"He said you'd say that too, and he said you'd be right." _"There's probably a part of you that wants to trust me, at least a little. But you shouldn't, not until I know you better."_ "We can keep talking if you actually have anything interesting to tell me, but otherwise I'm going to dance and at least try to act drunk." Turning on her heel she eagerly joins in the crowd dancing, letting them jostle and move her closer to the middle, away from Scott and her problems.

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Next week: Assassination attempts galore.


	10. Chapter 10

So a couple of awesome things: My lovely beta Rantsofafangirl made pretty art for me (link on my profile), and I also did a tiny sequel involving Jordan/Erwann and his yet to actually be introduced sister (link also on my profile).

A not so awesome thing: Trigger Warning for suicide this chapter folks.

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Faintly Lydia can hear her phone ringing. Blearily she blinks and sits up, listening closer. It's her Stiles ringtone and with a groan she crawls out of bed, taking a sheet with her; her clothes still downstairs with her phone.

She only feels a little wobbly, though her left shoulder _hurts_, as she walks and she takes extra care with the stairs. As she descends the smells of beef and some sort of leafy green reach her nose and her stomach complains.

Peter doesn't say anything as she goes to her phone, but she knows he knows she's up. Picking up her phone she hits 'answer'. "What's up?" At least she doesn't sound like she had wildly kinky sex.

"Hey, so I was planning on going down to the station to talk to my dad about Benefactor stuff, you want to come?" Then a few seconds later. "You don't sound like you're at the bonfire."

At least he's asking; securing the sheet a little better she leans against the back of the couch and gives an inaudible sigh; if she cared at all for her social life anymore she _would_ be at the bonfire, but she'd kind of gotten caught up in Peter –though she doubted Stiles would like that answer. "And you don't sound like you're at the bonfire either Stiles, so don't go judging me. And why not. But I need," she ticks off essentials in her head: bandage shoulder, dressed, eat _something_, at least she didn't have to ask Peter for a ride. "About half an hour. Meet you at the station?"

She hears what might be jangling keys, "okay, yeah. Half an hour." He hangs up.

"It wouldn't be too much to hope that you've got bandages and anti-bacterial cream?" Hanging up her own phone she straightens, then grimaces. "And some painkillers, I'm _sore_." It's only half-accusing because she sure as hell isn't going to complain about the sex.

Peter comes in drying his hands off on a towel. "You forget Lydia, Derek's gone human, so yes we've got a first-aide kit. And I guess I can't convince you to stay and enjoy the dinner I made."

This time her sigh's audible. "Sorry, but the sheriff should know about my grandma"–_not your grandmother_–"sooner rather than later."

He gives a mock pout. "If you insist." He walks past her into what looks like another bathroom, while he's in there she drops the sheet and pulls on her panties and bra, leaving the left strap hanging around her arm. Peter's timing in returning is perfect enough that she's sure he waited for her to finish before coming back out. "At least let me get your shoulder."

"Peter, I would have chewed you if you _didn't_ take care of my shoulder."

He gives a rueful chuckle as he efficiently gets out everything; as he rubs the cream on the bite he leeches pain, perks of dating a werewolf she supposes.

"Is it going to scar?" Though she wonders if that's a question better asked at Jordan, Peter still doesn't know she is fae after all.

"I don't think it should," he answers as he tapes on gauze. "Finish getting dressed and I'll get you pills and at least _something_ to eat."

Rapidly he packs up the kit and goes back into the kitchen. "I don't know if I'm liking this mother hen side of you," she tells him as she pulls her dress up grateful it hasn't gotten too wrinkled.

Peter doesn't respond, a reaction she's unsure is good or bad. Dashing into the bathroom she checks her hair, she'd rather not have to come up with a lie to explain sex-hair to Stiles; though at least he doesn't have super senses. After a little rearranging she leaves and goes into the kitchen.

A glass of water and three ibuprofen are waiting for her on the counter along with a plate of apple slices. Peter's doing dishes. As she sits at the bar-counter she thinks this is strangely domestic of them, especially considering two and a half months ago she refused to be alone with him.

She doesn't eat quickly, but she can't really take her time, it'll take her about ten minutes to get to the department from the loft, leaving her only ten minutes to eat.

They remain silent as she does so, leaving Lydia feeling unnerved as she gets up. It doesn't feel like their relationship's ruined or anything, more that if Stiles hadn't called everything from then on would have turned out differently.

Hesitantly she goes over to Peter, who's been washing the same pot since she started eating, and wraps her arms around him resting her head on his back. "I'll see you later."

There's a bit of a clatter as he lets the pot drop and turns in her grasp. "Alright. And," for a brief second his damp hands wrap around her and return the hug before going back to his sides. "Don't think we're not done talking about this deputy of yours Lydia. There's something about him. . ." The interest she sees in Peter's eyes makes her strangely giddy.

"What do you think you might like him?" Lydia mock gasps.

Peter gives a bark of laughter. "I'll have you know I drove my poor parents up the walls with uncertainty on whether or not I'd bring a boyfriend or a girlfriend home during breaks, if I brought one at all." He gives a twitch of a smile, and something in Lydia softens to hear him fondly talking about life before the fire. "I don't think Talia quite approved, or at the very least didn't like, that I was, am, bisexual but she lived with it."

Part of Lydia wants to stay and talk more about this, because Peter might actually be opening up to her and who knows what they'd talk about. But she knows if she's even two minutes past when she said she'd be at the station Stiles will be calling her asking her where she is. With a sigh she lets go of Peter and steps away from him. "I'll see you later," she repeats before turning around and leaving.

000

The more Malia dances the stranger she feels, like everything's gone slow; some new thrum in the music grabs her and won't let go.

The boy trying to dance with her is attractive enough, she thinks about what sort of pups they'd have; she deals with that thought the same way she'd dealt with errant pups, grabbing it by the ruff and giving it a firm shake.

It doesn't work as well as usual though, mentally she feels like she's slogging through mud . He grabs her elbow, gently though otherwise she might have attacked him for being so presumptuous, and says something.

She stumbles and laughs, even though she's sure whatever he said wasn't actually funny. He starts leading her out towards the end of the crowd, but before they can go beyond the glow from the bonfire there are big burly men there. They sound angry as they speak, and she finds herself baring her teeth when one of them grabs her.

He sneers and starts dragging her towards the school. Shortly two others come along, dragging Scott and Liam. A twist in her gut tells her something's wrong, and she tries to get away; but like her thoughts her body feels like it's moving through something thicker than air and she can't seem to do anything of actual purpose.

They get dragged into a hallway and thrown against a row of lockers. It isn't until they start drenching the three of them in gasoline that she realizes they're assassins.

Next to her Scott sputters, shifting a little so he's half blocking Liam. "Wh. . .what are you doing?" He sounds like dad does sometimes; he sounds drunk.

Is that's what happened to them, did the three of them somehow get drunk? One of the assassins hunches down to eye level. "We're gonna burn you, like Haigh's gonna burn Parrish and then collect a good chunk of cash."

She has no idea who Haigh is, but she wants to at the very least rip his throat out. The assassin stands. "Make sure they're well soaked."

000

Jordan leans back in his chair and stretches, feeling every one of his many years. Besides Haigh he's the only one in the station, Stilinski and Michalson were out on patrol but should be back soon.

"Here," he's honestly surprised when Haigh sets a mug of coffee on his desk, it's not usual for the guy. "You look like you need it."

Only a little suspicious Jordan picks up the mug, coffee doesn't actually do much for him but he has grown to like the taste over the decades. He doesn't bother trying to sniff it, he doesn't exactly have the senses to tell if it's been drugged or not, just brings it up to his mouth and drinks. It's lukewarm, Haigh probably got it from the pot in the breakroom then, but that doesn't bother Jordan.

A few minutes into the mug he realizes everything's a little hazy, _huh, guess it was drugged_. He sways and out of the corner of his eye he sees Haigh approaching. Well despite the drugging, Jordan knows he can take whatever Haigh has planned.

000

One of the assassins flicks open and strikes a lighter, but as he goes to light them on fire a gunshot rings out and barely an eyeblink later the lighter's flying from the guy's hand away from them. All eyes turn to the end of the hall where Derek and the gun lady. . .'B' something. . .are standing.

A heartbeat later the horrible lethargy just. . .vanishes. Feeling alive again she lunges as Scott reaches out, hitting the assassin's shoulder the same time Scott grabs his hand and _twists_. The sound of cracking bones makes her mouth water, eager to suck the marrow from them. She gives herself a mental shake, _eating people is bad!_

The man falls down, incapacitated and before Malia can even blink it's a free-for-all. For all her desire to still become a coyote again she has to admit there's a certain rush to fighting like this, one she'll miss a little.

Then just as quick as it started it's over. She finds herself stumbling a little, legs wobbly. B-something reaches out to steady her and Derek helps Scott and Liam up. "You three alright?" He asks.

"I'll be fine," Scott answers, and she can't smell if he's lying or not –she'll need to shower for a week to get the reek of gasoline out of her.

Liam looks a little green though, and for all that they're pack-mates she thinks he could do with a little toughening up.

Malia takes a few deep breaths a forces her legs to support her. "I'm good."

B-something doesn't question her and lets go. Taking a step Malia's grateful that she doesn't wobble. "But I want a shower. . .then a nice patch of clover." She'd always liked the smell of clover.

From the looks that gets her she thinks she might have done another blunder and she curls up a little on herself. Derek's lips twitch in a bit of a smile though. "Come on at least you can shower in the locker rooms."

Oh goody.

000

It's laughably easy to act scared; and he does mean laughably, if he's not too careful he _will_ burst into laughter and well. . .that would kind of ruin the 'helpless' affectation. Though out of what he expected from an assassin Haigh isn't it.

Immolation is a horrible way to die, even worse, by the time Haigh leaves Jordan's still alive in the smoldering embers. Bastard didn't even have the decency to _make sure_ he was dead.

Blindly he reaches for the magic that will keep him alive, he might only be half-dead, but he needs that burst of healing that comes with new life. He has no idea who Haigh might go after next and Lydia still needs him. But it keeps slipping from him, the geas too indomitable. Death or nothing.

Gritting his teeth, which hurts hurts more than it has a right to, he forces a destroyed arm to move grateful that the plastic cuffs have melted; gas burns hot enough to kill, but not hot enough to warp metal and. . ._yes._ Half-fingers grip his gun and painfully slow, _hurry hurry,_ he brings it over to himself.

It hurts to breathe, but he forces himself to take a deep breath, suicide never gets easier but there's no choice. With what little strength he has left he raises the gun and fires.

Rebirth comes in a glorious rush. With gaining strength Erwann kicks the door of the iron trap he's stuck in. Fire's weakened it and it doesn't take long before it's flying away.

And like that he's away, running towards Lydia, towards that circle of perfect cold that is the heart of her. The trees whisper around him as he runs, _here, here, turn, no go._ Part of Erwann wants to laugh, it's been so long since his last death that he feels almost hyper-aware of the world around him, the way an errant breeze sweeps past taking more of his ashy clothes with it, the chatter of people a few streets over, the almost technicolor vision that comes with refreshed eyes.

It's heady, but he won't let him distract him from his goal, he can't fail, failing again means the loss of Lydia and he can't let that happen.

He slows when he reaches the sheriff's department, a little surprised she's here. Striding in, uncaring of his nakedness _it won't stop stop him from doing what he needs to do_, he sees Lydia in the Sheriff's office. _Safe_, that part of him relaxes, but another part tenses when he sees Haigh sitting at his computer like nothing's happened.

Rage whites his vision and Erwann charges.

Haigh's attempts at defending himself are human and weak, and Erwann easily subdues him. Once Haigh's trapped and _truly _helpless, Erwann redoubles his efforts, especially when he hears Lydia scream. "_In war playing fair gets you killed, you go to kill or be killed, so _kill_."_

When Haigh stops moving beneath him Erwann finds himself searching for another target, there has to be others here who are a danger to him, to Lydia.

"Jordan!" Reaches him faintly, as if in a fog. Lydia's voice says something else, but it's unimportant. Then a cool hand touches his shoulder and: "Erwann." It's whisper soft, a secret.

Erwann, who is also Jordan, breathes. Turning his head slightly he sees Lydia squatting next to him, worry clear in her gaze. "Are you alright?"

"I. . ." He turns his head to hack up a disgusting ball of ash and phlegm. Quickly though he turns back to Lydia, better to look at her than what he just spit out or the remains of Haigh. "I'm alright." A shiver wracks him and absentmindedly he realizes he's naked.

Lydia seems to realize this at the same moment, she flushes prettily then looks away. "Stiles?" Her voice sounds a little strained. "Jordan kind of needs clothes."

A laugh rattles out of Jordan, who briefly wonders if he should consider Erwann a different person now, they act so differently, "there should be something that fits me in the back room." With Stiles he doesn't think he needs to elaborate more than that. He starts to move to stand, only to stop when Lydia removes her hand the palm covered in ashes and grease. "And I'm going to take a shower." He damn well deserves one.

00000

Next week: conversations, Lydia experiments, and the big s4 shocker.

0

Yeah, the whole gasoline-bullets thing isn't true, and anyways they would have been shooting at the assassin's, not the gas cans.

And yeah, Peter is totally bi in my head, and nothing you can say will convince me otherwise.


	11. Chapter 11

So you know what you all need to do? You should all go to the tumblr page of my Beta Rantsofafangirl, and shower her with hugs and general well being, because without her this chapter would still be nowhere near finished.

Also I'm not going to apologize at all for the fact this chapter is 13,000+ words.

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After the ambulance carrying the sheriff and Stiles drives away Jordan and Lydia hurry to her car; Scott wanted everyone, well not _everyone_ everyone, to meet up as soon as possible. Seemed he wasn't the only one Haigh had been hoping to report dead tonight.

There's only a few heartbeats of silence in the car before Lydia speaks. "Are you immortal? Am I?" She doesn't sound strained, or worried, just. . .apprehensive?

He gives a little sigh, knowing this question would have turned up sooner or later. "Yes we both are, but in different ways. You, you'll probably stop aging somewhere in your twenties, maybe thirties, and if nothing happens to you you can live forever. But if you die, you die." Even though his jeans he can feel his nails pressing in.

"Me, I'll look like this forever too, but when I die, I don't stay dead." In a way it's a blessing and a curse, being a saprophyte: it means that he can survive things that would kill most other beings, it means that back in the Mound there is literally a cemetery with his name on it. On the other hand he's only one of two and he failed the other and now she's caught in a cycle of eternal dying that no one can break and _he failed her_.

"Oh," Lydia is silent for a few seconds. "What can kill me?" It's a relief that she's asking that, the more she knows about what to avoid the safer she'll be.

"Truly? Any fatal wound made by iron or steel unless you are _very _lucky, iron poisoning can kill you, though much slower. Because you're Winter you can withstand colder temperatures than most, and while I'm actually not sure about you, I know most Winter fae avoid places that can get over eighty in the summer." He shrugs. "Most things that could kill humans or other supernatural creatures, though in greater extreme: if you fell from a hundred feet you probably would only have minor injuries and could walk away just fine but from two to three hundred? You'd at least have some broken bones.

"Most diseases won't kill you, except for a few of supernatural origin, and your body will always manage to fight off any infection you might get."

Silence falls in the car while Lydia seems to process all of that. "You said I could deal with colder temperatures, does that mean I have some control over cold?"

"You should. All fae that are explicitly of Winter have some control over things like cold and snow. I've seen your mother call a snowstorm down in a desert, and when Tambora erupted she was quick to take advantage of the situation, I think she enjoyed making it snow in August, though it annoyed your aunt to no end." While the queen didn't exactly hide away her emotions from her court, she didn't share them either, but all still knew that that year was one of the few times she laughed in public.

Her eyebrows rise. "I have an aunt?"

Oh, he looks out the window, he possibly should have mentioned that earlier. "And two cousins. Your aunt is the queen of the Summer Court, and your mother's twin."

"Huh," she falls quiet again. Though this time it doesn't last as long as before. "Tambora erupted in 1815," she gives him a side-eye look. "And if you were there. . .how old are you exactly?"

It's a question that makes Jordan feel a little uncomfortable. "Honestly I've kind of lost track, a lot of fae do past a certain point, but ah. . .I'm at least over a thousand years old."

He sees her knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. "That, is a lot older than I thought you'd say." Her response is enough that he kind of wishes he had a shifter's senses, maybe they would tell him more about what she currently felt.

Lucky for him they arrive at Derek's building soon after, which puts an end to any other awkward questions or explanations for the time being. Though it does mean he has to start figuring out what he's going to say to those who don't know about him to explain everything in a mostly satisfactory fashion.

For the second time that day they head up to the loft. This time Peter's not there, or at least he doesn't make himself known; but Derek is –looking his actual age again– as is Scott. As he and Lydia walk in Scott wrinkles his nose. "You smell like gasoline," worry's clear on his face. "And smoke. Did someone stop Haigh before he could burn you?"

Lydia glances at him and arches an eyebrow as if to say 'you're on your own'. He huffs. "No. Haigh burned me," he might as well just go with that. "But I survived." Lydia brushes past him, a sensation new to this body that has him breaking out in goosebumps, as she goes to stand by Derek.

Though that is only for a moment since Scott and Derek are quickly on him, both paying more attention to him than he's comfortable with. "How'd you survive? You don't look burned at all." Scott again, Derek seems content to just look for now.

"I don't think I did survive." He's walking a fine line of half-truths and evasion.

"Can I?" Derek gestures at Jordan's hand, and at least he's asking.

He shrugs, "go ahead."

With surprising gentleness Derek grabs his hand and brings it up to his face, turning it this way and that. "You don't look like you were burned alive."

Jordan has to resist the urge to chuckle. "Hair and nails should be gone right? Trust me though, I feel like it." And he does, everything's still too raw, taking a shower had been an exercise in self-control.

At the moment he doesn't even want to contemplate what sex might be like; though now that he's thought of _that_, it does start creeping into his brain: _Lydia pinning him down as she rides him, Peter– _Peter?

True his encounter with the other man had left him a little shaken, and he found Peter's sharp tongue entertaining, but Jordan didn't know if he actually found the man _attractive_. At least not in a way that would imply sex. . .a small part of him protests that he's clearly denying the possibility.

"So what is he?" Scott's question gratefully pulls him away from having to think more on that. At first Jordan thinks it's a general question to the room, but it doesn't take him long to notice Scott is looking at Derek expectantly.

Derek's brow furrows as he drops Jordan's hand and crosses his arms. "This is a little outside my area of expertise Scott, I don't know everything."

Scott's eyes narrow. "But you knew about Kira, and Jackson." The accusation in Scott's tone is heavy enough that even Jordan can't miss it.

Part of Derek's lip curls, briefly revealing teeth. "My family's had experience with kanimas and kitsune before Scott, but I've never heard of anything like him." Considering Jordan is one of two, and the fae are secretive at best that admission doesn't surprise him.

Which is when Lydia steps in. "Really you two?" She arches an eyebrow at Scott. "Scott it's okay that Derek doesn't know the answer, and expecting him to is just rude." She can't see it but Jordan doesn't miss the grateful look Derek gives her at that. "Now can we focus on more important things please?" There's a bare thread of glamour in her voice.

Now Scott's the one with a furrowed brow. "But we need to figure out what Parrish is."

At least Lydia manages to cover her surprise that her compulsion didn't work quickly enough that Scott doesn't notice. "Why, Scott?" Her voice has more glamour in it this time, enough that it should bend Scott. "It's not important compared to everything else. It's okay if we don't know right now, we can flip through the bestiary when this is all over and try and figure out then alright?"

The mention of a bestiary intrigues Jordan, though he doubts anything remotely fae would be in it, at least not in a concrete manner.

"But he's not like us." Scott's shoulders slump though, and if Jordan were younger he would probably be offended at being othered like that.

He can turn it a little to his advantage though. "Not like you? Are you all like Lydia then?" It's a ribbing Jordan finds he doesn't want to resist. The other two give him blank looks, though Lydia's lips twitch in a smile. "Are you all psychic?"

Scott gives a little frown. "No not exactly." He and Derek seem to have a conversation that is done only in eyebrow movements. Then Scott steps in front of him and lets his eyes glow bloody red.

Jordan will admit it's a cool trick, but these aren't the first werewolves he's ever encountered. Still he makes himself take a step back as if stunned, they need to believe he doesn't know what he is and he needs that lie to stand as long as possible; being underestimated is his greatest weapon right now.

After that though the atmosphere feels lighter, or at least light enough that Jordan doesn't think anyone's going to hurt anyone else anytime soon.

"Did you find out anything else about your grandma?" Derek turns to Lydia. "I thought you said your mom could tell you more?"

Lydia nods, "Yeah, I talked with her about it this morning, though Jordan gave me a good jumping off point yesterday when he asked about the boating trophies at the lake house. It managed to get me all of the relevant history."

Either Lydia doesn't notice Scott's slightly stunned expression, or she's ignoring it because she just continues. "They're all for a woman named Maddie Jones, who was my. . .grandmother's girlfriend. She raced yachts, and if the trophies are anything to go by she was really good. Grandma was working for IBM at the time and one day while she was checking on the computers she heard thunder, but when she looked out the window the sky was clear."

Lydia's lips twitch, though it's a wan smile. "Still she couldn't shake the foreboding feeling in her chest, so she called Maddie. But when she told Maddie what she'd heard Maddie just laughed and told her that the sky at the lake was the clearest she'd ever seen it." She hunches in a little on herself. "Of course clear days don't mean lightning won't strike. Apparently the coroner called it an 'Act of God'."

"She died?" Scott's so easy to read it's a little sad really; his wrecked expression conveying his sorrow for a woman who died around forty years ago.

"Yes, and after she died grandma threw herself into trying to find out why she'd heard what she did. Doctors, para-psychologists, whoever said they had an answer. That's how she met my grandfather, he was a neuroscientist.

"When grandma got pregnant with dad she started turning to more. . .esoteric means to find the answers to her questions. . .she and grandpa apparently argued a lot about it, and after dad was born grandpa had her committed to Eichen for the first time." For a few moments those words seem to echo and hold more resonance.

"She was in and out for most of dad's life, though dad never really understood why since grandma seemed sane every time they went to visit her or she got discharged. But it stuck with him. He only let me see her a few times when she'd been discharged and under _very _controlled circumstances.

"Mom said grandma met Meredith when I was about thirteen. And somehow she convinced grandpa to discharge her and get a week pass for Meredith, which apparently was a lot harder than it sounded, Meredith had just appeared at Eichen's doors a few years before that, covered in blood." Even with everything Jordan's seen and experienced hearing that is a bit of a shock.

"But grandpa did it and they took Meredith to the lake house and tested her for everything they could think of: hearing, vision, perception, brain waves." He watches as Lydia takes a deep breath; part of him wants to comfort her in some fashion, to make this easier for her somehow, but he thinks she might refuse it like she did yesterday. He knows she needs to learn to stand on her own to be a good queen, but it doesn't mean he has to like it. "The tests went. . .poorly, from what I read from the result sheets." But as she continues her expression grows more and more sorrowful and he finds he can't resist stepping up to her side and gently taking her hand, feeling gratified when she squeezes his. And Jordan doesn't miss the way Scott and Derek's eyes sharpen with interest. Not that he thinks it's any of their business.

"When Meredith returned to Eichen she was well and truly insane. After that grandpa committed grandma again and refused her every argument that she should be discharged; for all I know he probably thought it was a fitting punishment for her. Three years later she died, the report we got said suicide," Lydia shrugs. "But now it seems more likely now she faked her death."

Scott looks expectantly at Lydia, like he expects there to be more to the story, but Lydia doesn't continue; in comfort Jordan squeezes back before letting go.

"So what do we do now?" For a man who's older than Scott, Derek seems happy to let someone else take the lead.

Scott looks resigned but willing to step up to the plate. "We find Lydia's grandma," for a second Lydia's facade cracks: sadness, fear, and resignation flickering across her features at the thought of meeting her pseudo-grandmother. But Jordan's pleased to note no one else notices. Though he can't imagine what she's going through, he never actually had parents in the human sense. "And try to convince her to call off the deadpool." Which is sweet and wonderfully naive of Scott.

"What about plan B?" Lydia's question draws Scott short.

But overall the boy doesn't seem that perturbed. "We'll find a way to stop the deadpool," he repeats, as if saying it will be enough to make it so, and there's a sort of earnest charisma about Scott that Jordan _wants_ to believe that Scott will find a way; but Jordan's old enough that he knows earnestness only gets you so far in life. He'd like to think killing Lorraine would be enough to stop the deadpool, but that's a foolish hope. Scott's phone buzzes, pulling it out he frowns a little. "I need to go," he gives a little sheepish smile. "Mom wants me home."

To Jordan Scott's actions just prove that he's too young to be dealing with problems like this, he's what? Seventeen? Sixteen? Lydia's told him about what all of them have gone through in the past year, and while Jordan isn't going to deny the difficulty of the choices they've had to make, compared to some of the decisions Jordan's seen humans make Scott's kind of had it easy. Jordan isn't sure if he wants to see what sort of man a true war would make Scott McCall.

Scott turns to Lydia, "you'll call if you get anything more right?"

Her shoulders slump and she gives a little nod of her head. "Yes Scott, I'll call."

He steps over to Derek, "and be careful, you're not exactly invincible anymore."

Derek's huff is a little exasperated. "Trust me Scott I know that better than you do." It takes Jordan longer than he would like to recall what's wrong with Derek, but when he does he grimaces in sympathy.

"Yeah I know, but I'm still worried about you." Scott ducks his head a little, like he's sort of embarrassed to admit that.

Derek's smile is bright, "thanks Scott. But I think I've got a hold of things for now, and I've got Braeden looking out for me too." Reaching out he actually _ruffles _Scott's hair. "You should probably go home before your mom texts you again."

Scott throws out one last hurried goodbye before rushing out the door.

Awkward silence fills the loft, Derek and Lydia clearly not knowing what to say to each other. From what he remembers of what Lydia told him, the two of them didn't interact often, and a year ago Derek tried to kill her.

Part of Jordan wants to hate Derek for that, but Derek's transformation into pure human is a suffering that not even Jordan can comprehend, nor does he think he wants to. Before he can try to break the ice footsteps from the upper section have all three of them turning towards the spiral staircase.

It's Peter and Jordan feels a tangle of emotions as he watches him descend the stairs. "Well that's a blindingly simple plan, though delightfully short sighted." For all that Jordan met the man a few hours ago for the first time it's a small shock to see him again. There's a draw about Peter that Jordan's not sure he wants to investigate or acknowledge –for all that fae can't verbally speak lies they're fantastic at lying in their own minds.

His appearance also triggers a gut punch of debt, the sort most fae despise. It makes part of him want to throw himself at Peter's feet and demand a task, something that can even the scales. But the rest of him knows it doesn't, or at least shouldn't, work like that.

So instead he hides a hand behind his back and clenches it tightly, embracing the small sharp pain of nails digging into the meat of his palm.

Derek glowers, "you could've come down earlier."

"What to give my input on that stellar plan?" Peter arches an eyebrow. "Please you know how it would've gone, Scott wouldn't even trust me with his pet goldfish."

Lydia rolls her eyes, "don't be such a drama queen Peter."

Peter only gives her a sharp cutting glance, one that seems to amuse Lydia more than anything. "I would hardly call the truth dramatic. The day Scott McCall come to me for help is the day the world is going to end. I mean he didn't even think to ask if _I_ knew what Jordan might be."

Jordan doesn't exactly feel panicked, but he's worried. There's no way Peter knows what he is. _How _could he have figured out in such a short amount of time? Peter _couldn't_ know enough to have deduced the correct answer. Either in solidarity or comfort Lydia steps closer to him; and from the way Peter's gaze sharpens he doesn't miss it.

But Derek unintentionally distracts him. "_Do_ you know what he is?"

"No," Peter sounds like it's a personal affront that he doesn't know the answer. "That doesn't mean I don't have guesses." Jordan can live with guesses, especially when they're most likely wrong.

However he's starting to get tired of being talked over, and anger comes quick and easy. "I'm right here you two." He crosses his arms and glares at Peter, who hardly seems phased.

Derek looks a little embarrassed though, if his slightly pink ears are anything to go by. "Sorry," he turns a little. "I'm. . .going to get something to eat."

He sounds so stiff and tense that Jordan wants to say something to try and relax him –though what that would be escapes him– but before he can really even think on it Derek has retreated to the kitchen.

"And then there were three," Peter murmurs seemingly to himself, before crossing his arms and turning to face Jordan completely, "well Jordan," the way Peter says his name is vaguely unpleasant. "If I asked you what you were would you tell me?"

"No," fae might not be able to lie, but that didn't mean they had to answer every question put to them, or even in a straightforward manner.

"You know you were much more pleasant this afternoon."

"Peter," Lydia hisses, clearly offended.

Jordan's not afraid to meet Peter's eyes, anger pushing him on. "Yes well, this afternoon someone hadn't try to kill me."

Peter does not exactly take a step back, but his eyes do widen a little. "So I heard. But the question remains, _do_ you know what you are?"

Now Jordan crosses his own arms, more as a barrier than anything else. "And if I did?"

"Than I'm sure Scott would find it a curious thing that you're so close lipped about it." Peter's gaze turns assessing, and even though Jordan's over a thousand years old that gaze still makes him feel like a butterfly trapped in a jar. "And while I find myself curious, I prefer to figure things out on my own."

Lydia steps between them, glaring at them both. "There's a table right there you know."

He finds himself blushing a little at her implication, while Peter sniggers.

"I think I should leave," Jordan thinks his emotions might be getting the better of him, all of him still a little raw and sensitive.

She frowns a little, as if she had something planned and he's blowing it all out of the water. "Alright," she tosses him her keys. "I'll be down in a little bit," her gaze cuts to Peter, who smirks a little. "Peter and I need to talk about something."

Jordan only nods before he turns around and does his best to make it look like he isn't running away.

000

Peter gives her a twitch of a smile, "I'd thought I was going to have to detain you to finish our conversation." His tone is amused, but quite, clearly not wanting to draw Derek's attention.

Despite her low simmering anger Lydia still blushes a little, still not really believing that barely an hour ago she had admitted to the man she was technically in a relationship with that she wanted to at least have sex with another man as well. Sure one or two of the fuck-buddies she'd been with since Jackson, and actually Jackson himself once, had proposed threesomes; but that had been more in a 'I want to see two girls making out on top of me' way bullshit. Though she knows that not all poly relationships have to work like that.

Peter's admission of being bisexual right before she left though had sparked something in her belly, a curious curl that somehow made it okay for her imagine things proceeding down a path where she could have both of them. Seeing the two of them next to each other that afternoon had made her picture things she never had before: what they might look curled up around each other in sleep, if Jordan was a morning person or if he'd be stumbling towards the coffee pot after getting up, or was he a tea drinker like her and Peter? Those images don't make her shiver, but they made a curious want inside her to know them in reality.

Granted he didn't explicitly say he wanted to try things with Jordan, but admitting he was bisexual and saying there was something interesting about Jordan? Well Lydia can read between Peter's lines, and even if he didn't say yes, yet, it's enough that Lydia doesn't feel bad about trying to go forward.

But that does not mean she is going to play Peter's game. "Considering how underhanded you asking about it was I'm surprised too," she crosses her arms and narrows her eyes at him.

"Well _considering_ our relationship I think I have a right to know if you're thinking about another man, especially if it means you might start cheating on me." He steps closer and arches an eyebrow. "Werewolves can react just as poorly as humans do Lydia, and well, I find I quite enjoy our relationship."

Her narrowed eyes turn into a full on glare. "Trust me Peter, I would legitimately break up with you before actually going through the trouble of sleeping with someone else. Relationships can have enough drama as it is without throwing infidelity into the mix. If I want to break up with you, you'll be the first to know."

He opens his mouth to speak again, but she continues before he gets the chance. "Also, just because I might have feelings for him does not invalidate or overwhelm any feelings I might have for you Peter," she steps even closer and pokes him, hard, in the chest. "I can damn well care for more than one person and still have enough left over for myself. And," she takes a deep breath because admitting this for the first time might be _hard_. "Maybe I want you both."

Which earns her raised eyebrows, "what, polyamory? That isn't exactly something werewolves are known for."

"A, really? B, when have you ever gone with what's expected? C, you're a _were_wolf, or do you not know the roots of your own word? Humans do all sorts of strange relationships."

He actually bares his teeth at her, and feeling a thread of panic takes a step back; in an eyeblink though he appears calm again. "I haven't felt human in a long time Lydia."

Overall that admission is not actually a surprise. But the _fact_ he's admitting it? Well, Lydia's fairly certain it's a step in the right direction for Peter; not that she thinks he'll be able to be 'better' than vaguely antagonistic. So seeing no reason not to she steps back towards him and hugs him. "That doesn't make you heartless."

She actually feels Peter jump a little in her embrace, clearly not expecting the contact. "You know I'm curious to see how you would explain this to Derek if he stepped back into the room."

"You're trying to change the subject, and it's not going to work." Turning her head a little to rest better on his chest she closes her eyes and inhales: he smells like old books, something infinitely comforting to her.

His shoulders slump, but he returns the hug. "What do you want me to say Lydia? That I'm okay with it? Or that I don't care?"

Her embrace loosens as her own shoulders slump. "I just want you to be honest for a few minutes, you said earlier that there was something interesting about Jordan."

"More in a 'what is he' sense, there aren't many creatures that can survive being burned alive; granted I will admit he is attractive."

Progress? "Look, I just. . ." her thoughts tangle a bit and she finds herself opening her eyes to actually _look _at Peter, because she means this. "I really do like him, enough that yes, if I weren't with you I would be with him. And I'm not saying you should jump into bed with him, unless you want to; but maybe contemplate the idea that _I_ would like to be with him, as well as you." It would definitely be an interesting balancing act for her, but she thinks she could do it.

"For the most part the idea of it makes me want to drag you upstairs and fuck you senseless," his voice is a low, dangerous, rumble, one that makes her shiver. "Just to prove that I can." One of his hands moves up to just under the bite he gave her, rubbing the skin under it pointedly.

She will _not_ moan, certain that Derek would at least be able to hear _that_. "What about the other part?" It's a bit of a reckless question, but she _feels_ reckless.

Peter doesn't answer for a few tense seconds, but she can see when he comes to a conclusion of sorts. "The other part is content enough for now to wait and watch. Though. . ."

Right now, Lydia can't help but pounce. "'Though' what?"

He gives her a look, one which considering Peter is probably very affectionate. At least it's affectionate and not angry, not that she can't deal with angry Peter. "Though his scent and body language when I came down made my wolf take notice." He reaches up to brush her hair back gently. "You might be the one I and my wolf want, but well. . .we could never resist a good chase."

The image those words evoke is too strong to resist: _running through the woods on a full moon, the best kind of fear and panic coursing through her veins._

Peter's nostrils flare as he inhales sharply. "And what sort of thought did you have there, dear Lydia?"

"Just a fantasy," she shrugs as if it means nothing. "Just running through the preserve during a full moon, knowing I'm being chased, being played with."

Peter's eyes flare and when he speaks she can see inhumanly sharp teeth. "There's a full moon this weekend." He steps closer, looming over her slightly.

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. "I hadn't realized," sarcasm drips from her voice.

He grins and leans down to kiss her; his teeth are still out, making it a much more delicate process than any kiss has a right to be. She still enjoys it though, and pulls away reluctantly. "I should go Jordan's waiting for me."

Peter's eyes darken dangerously, before he gives a quiet sigh and pulls away. "Of course, go."

Without stopping to think about it Lydia steps up to Peter, rises up on her toes, and lays a brief kiss on his chin. "I'll call you tomorrow," she tells him before turning and leaving. Hoping Peter thinks on what she has asked and said, and makes a decision soon.

000

Jordan's glad he Lydia let him go without question, he just. . .needs to get a hold of himself. He's only been alive again for a few hours, though adjusting feels more difficult that it has in past years, and he's already been bombarded by too many things.

Chief among them seems to be Peter, something that catches Jordan-Erwann completely off guard. What's even worse is he can't tell if the pull is the debt between them, or the beginnings of attraction. He _knows_ it shouldn't be the debt; he's been in debt to other fae, even other supernatural beings before and it never felt like this. The deep breath he takes is shaky. Which leaves only attraction and lust, an idea Erwann is not going to reject out of hand; sure 99% of his lovers have been women, of the few he's had, but he knows there's a one percent of men he can find himself attracted to.

_But does Peter actually fall in that one percent?_ He groans and gently thuds his head against the dashboard. Thinking that the iron in Lydia's car is making him foggy headed –why else would he be so confused?– he gets out and begins pacing in the parking lot. It doesn't surprise him that he ends up in front of one of the stunted and gnarled maple trees.

Sitting down he leans against it, feeling the sap moving sluggishly through the tree. His sigh brushes the smooth buckled bark and the maple wakes up a little, thin spring leaves, leaf buds and branches rustling, a few of them even leaning down and brushing against him. Reaching a hand up he tangles his fingers in the twiggy branches; their stiff bodies do their best to return the favor, but they're not exactly vines.

What to do, what to think?

Of course there's always the option of at least trying to put the idea completely from his mind; he knows he's deeply attracted to Lydia, but their roles of knight and princess give him a sort of cage and channel for those feelings. But with Peter there is no such restriction; well their debt, but when that's resolved they would be more or less equals.

To distract himself, if even for only a few seconds, he finds himself debating if he should tell Derek that he could tap these maples for sap if he wanted to. Untangling his hand from the leaves and branches –which rustles in a fashion a human would probably call a sigh– he moves it down to the roots, which even at night still greedily suck up water. Reaching out a little with his magic he can feel the other trees through the ground as well; all of them are doing well enough, but he gives a little boost to all of them anyways, especially the one that has a hint of blight creeping in.

As he pulls back into himself there's a bit of relief to realize he's settled a little, the world not seeming so chaotic and wild. But returning to himself means that the part of him that 'stayed behind' is more than happy to remind him of his conundrum with Lydia and Peter.

He is not sure what it is about those two that make him want to. . .bash his own head against a wall a few times. A sense of wonderful frustration lingers about them, and he finds it's more than willing to drive him into things he wouldn't usually contemplate.

Passion is passion, and whether it drove you into the arms of one or two or more hardly mattered to his sensibilities; but now that there's potential that it could happen to him? Lydia, if her kiss last week was anything to go by, seemed to reciprocate his feelings enough; but Peter? Well Jordan felt certain he wouldn't understand that man any time soon; if there was anything to understand in the first place. But like sharp, clever tongues, that's something Jordan has always found attractive.

"Jordan?" Lydia's voice calling out snaps him from his thoughts.

He stands and steps around the tree, gently batting at branches that try to 'grab' his shirt. "Over here."

Lydia turns and gives a smile as she sees him approaching. "I thought you were going to wait in the car?"

"I wanted to clear my head, and that much iron always makes me a little woozy." Which is a half-truth at best, because as long as the drive or wait isn't too long he can stand it quite well; it's only extended periods of time in cars that makes him sick.

"Oh," Lydia's expression turns thoughtful. "Sorry."

He shrugs. "Nothing to apologize for."

Her smile returns a little, though softer and warmer somehow. He thinks if he leaned down and kissed her right now she would be happily respond. "Should I take you home?"

'As opposed to the station?' nearly passes his lips, but he holds it back because it's more than a little rude –a sure sign that he probably needs to sleep. "I would appreciate that."

She walks over to the driver door and starts climbing in. "Well come on then."

Feeling unable to refuse, something that happens a lot around Lydia, he climbs in.

000

Peter does not exactly _regret _that he let Lydia leave relatively unmolested tonight, but considering some of the questions she asked of him tonight it doesn't sit well with him. Laying on his bed, which still smells strongly of her and sex, he stares up at the ceiling high above him and thinks.

He hadn't been lying to her earlier when he'd said polyamory wasn't something werewolves were usually known for, point in fact it makes the wolf in him restless and a little wary. Though there's also the human fear that Jordan might swoop in and take Lydia from him irrevocably. Both are valid and natural.

It doesn't bother him that Jordan, that _Parrish_, is a man; Peter also hadn't been lying when he'd told Lydia his parents never knew if he'd be bring home a boyfriend or a girlfriend the times he did bring someone home to meet his folks. He needs to be honest with himself, at least with the fact that Parrish seems quite intelligent and quick-witted both of which are large pluses when it comes to rousing Peter's sexual interest.

So, he at least finds Jordan marginally attractive himself; but that's not exactly enough invite the other man into his bed in any way shape or form. With an annoyed sigh Peter sits up, realizing he isn't going to get to bed anytime soon.

Getting up he walks over to the stairwell and pulls the cover over it so as not to disturb Derek, before walking over to his, disappointingly small, record collection. Pulling out one of his few instrumental records he sets it to play as he sits down next to his battered old record player.

The music's there for him to focus on something else for a little while but it only half works, his mind working as best it can through the tangle of thoughts and emotions while he tries to come to a decision of some sort.

By the time the record is finished he does come to a decision of sorts, and it's that he needs to know more about Jordan Parrish before choosing something conclusively.

000

Lydia gets up earlier than she usually does, all because of Jordan –though not for the reasons she would have liked. While she gets ready for the day she tries her best to focus, or center herself, or something that might make this experiment go better. When she's about as ready as she thinks she can get, she goes back into her bedroom.

Sitting at her vanity Lydia closes her eyes and just lets herself breathe. Jordan's words from last night echoing a little in her head: _"All fae that are explicitly Winter have some control over cold. . ."_ So besides the banshee stuff she doesn't understand she can also work as a drink cooler. She gives a soft snort at her own shitty joke.

_How exactly can I go about _doing_ cold stuff?_ Well there's always doing the obvious and thinking cold thoughts. She breaths again, and moves her hands so they're resting on her mirror –she has no idea what this attempt might do, and she'd rather just replace the mirror than her whole vanity. And tries to remember the coldest she's ever been.

Two years ago her family had gone on vacation to Norway in the summer; while there she'd been able to do a traditional sauna, she hadn't quite listened as well as she could've and the first go around she'd just jumped straight into the plunge pool. On reflection it probably hadn't been that cold, but the temperature difference between it and the sauna had been a shock to her body, one that still makes her shiver.

She holds the memory of that chill as best she can and lets it build up. While she's sure the complete process isn't at all like glamour, she can still use that as a good jumping off point. So she attempts to push that cold memory out of her and thinks, _when I open my eyes my mirror is going to be covered in frost._

Taking another deep breath she opens her eyes, well her mirror's _not_ covered in frost; but when she tries pulling her hands away they stick for a brief second and there're ice crystals clinging to them. So it's a start at least.

Going into her bathroom she grabs a towel and dries her hands, taking it back with her to wipe down her mirror. Sitting back down she tries again. This time instead of a slow insistent push she tries to shove the memory of that cold all out at once.

Hearing something crackle she opens her eyes to see her hands covered in ice, enough that she's actually stuck to her mirror. _Alright, so maybe I didn't really think that through._

But at least it presents another challenge for her: because it should be just as easy for her to take all that cold back into herself. Instead of closing her eyes again she focuses on the ice, and mentally she pictures all that cold re-entering her body, getting sucked up as if by a vacuum.

At first she doesn't think anything's happening, but a few minutes pass and she's pretty certain all the water running down her mirror, and onto the towel, is because of her and not because of the ambient temperature in the room.

Finally she can move her hands again and drying them off for the final time she tosses her towel into her hamper and pulling on her shoes she heads downstairs, if she's not careful she's going to be late for school.

...

If Lydia had actually been worried about her grades failing she probably would have actually paid more attention in class, as it is most of the day passes by in a daze; though even in that daze she doesn't fail to miss the glances every one of her friends, well except for Danny, sends her throughout the day. Scott's are the most intense of all, like he's expecting her to do even more than she already has.

It does makes her want to _do_ something, though not in the way Scott is probably hoping. It might have been a shock yesterday to find out that she apparently needed more glamour than she would think to use on a werewolf, or maybe it's just Alphas; more experimenting would be required, though there weren't a whole host of Betas to pull from to test and see if there was a difference in the amount of glamour required. But now she knows and can adjust accordingly.

She resists the urge though, being that cruel and petty is a level she doesn't want to stoop too; even if it meant she had to put up with more pressure than she would like. Scott –and Malia at least before they deciphered the second part of the deadpool– seemed to think she could just magically pluck the needed answers from the air, and it just. . .it didn't work like that!

But she has no idea what she can do to make everyone understand that, which fills her with frustration. Her phone buzzes during IB history distracting her; luckily the teacher does not notice. Pulling it out she stares at the notification that she has a text from Stiles.

Tapping her screen she opens it. _Should meet at my place after school, figure out cypher_.

Lydia sighs, Stiles might not be as bad as Scott, but he still expected more of her than she could actually give. In fact it's enough that she almost texts back 'no', but it really would be too much to ask that she be able to deal with these problems at a later date; she couldn't afford to be selfish when people were dying around her and she could possibly stop it.

Despite that Jordan's words from last week are still lodged in her mind: "_Try to think of yourself first_."

She sighs again. _Fine_, she texts back. Doing this just might save herself, along with everyone else.

...

Once at Stiles' they waste no time in going up to his room and opening up the cypher; at least she didn't had as much to type up as last time. Right away the two of them start trying various answers: _Lorraine, Madeline, Maddie, yacht, lake, storm, _even _IMB_. Nothing works, and thank God there isn't an attempt limit otherwise she and Stiles might well and truly be screwed.

With a groan Stiles stands, staring at his clue board like it'll give him the answer. "She wrote this code for you right? Or at least with the intention you'd be the one to solve it. So you've _got_ to know the cypher key. Come on Lydia! There's got to be something you two did together." She's starting to get truly annoyed with Stiles' prodding.

"No Stiles. There isn't." She takes a deep breath, imposing calm on herself. "My dad didn't exactly want me associating with a woman they thought was clearly crazy, or did you forget everything I talked about at the station?" Despite her attempt at calm her voice still breaks in anger. "I'm pretty sure I can count the number of times we met on one hand, I hardly even _know_ her; and thinking that she wrote this for me is also a huge assumption."

Stiles starts pacing, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "There's gotta be a clue somewhere. Writing it for you is the only possibility Lydia, otherwise why bother insisting that _you_ get it in her will?" She's loathed to admit it but he has a point with that. Almost absently he kicks a book out of his way, and Lydia finds herself resisting the urge to snap that he should take better care of his books. "Did she send you things? What _do_ you remember about her?"

Lydia wants to hit Stiles for a single, blinding second, it sits like a lump of ice in her chest. "All I _remember_ Stiles is that she probably smelled like lilies and chrysanthemums." She grits her teeth, trying to contain her anger. But Stiles' first question sparks something in her. "She. . .sent me presents some times."

His eyes alight with excitement and he's on her like a bloodhound. "What kind of things?"

Closing her eyes Lydia casts her mind back, searching. "Books mostly. . .she said. . .she _wrote_, in a card, that you couldn't hide intelligence like mine, not for long at least." Though Lydia'd managed it for eight years, she thinks that's pretty damn impressive.

"What kind of books?" At least Stiles' question doesn't sound as eager as she'd thought it would.

She finds she wants to be in the quiet of the lake house's soundproof room, fewer distractions at the very least; she, she doesn't know why she wants that though, that place is seeped in so much misery she wants to destroy it too. It adds to the cold in her chest. "Women in history mostly. . .Marie Curie, Hedy Lamar, Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin, the Harvard Computers, Ada Lovelace, Katherine Johnson, Alice Roosevelt."

"Harvard Computers?"

Lydia won't snap that Stiles should probably know who they are; instead she breathes deeply trying to chip away at the ice inside of her, to establish some sort of calm. "They were a group of women hired by William Pickering to process astronomical data." She shrugs. "Sometimes she sent me fiction too: Ursula K. Le Guin, Madeleine L'Engle, Diana Wynne Jones, the Tiffany Aching novels. But those weren't as frequent." And after she'd read them, or more likely after a few months of them collecting dust she'd get rid of them, most ending up in used bookstores or as library donations. The ones she's kept barely take up half a shelf, and even then she's been winnowing away at the pile.

It's not that they don't interest her it's just. . .she just didn't, and _doesn't_, _want_ to own them, too much association with an annoyed dad, the implied connection to a grandmother who had been thought to be mentally ill. Were those the first stirrings of her banshee powers? Because she sure as hell does not remember either of her parents talking about those sorts of things, at least not where she could hear them; but she still knew it.

"Did you have any favorites?" Stiles question shakes her from her train of thought.

She shrugs. "Not really, I mean I enjoyed learning about all those women in math and science, but. . ." she shrugs again.

He makes a face that pretty much conveys _her_ frustration as well. "Great, square one again." He starts pacing again and she resists the urge to tie him to a chair, she has never seen Stiles this antsy before and it's starting to get to _her_. He quickly stops though, "I'll, uh, be right back." He leaves his room and a few seconds later she hears what is probably the bathroom door shut, _focusing on something else now_.

The blinking cursor feels like it's taunting her, and she kind of hates it. Setting her fingers on they keyboard she narrows her eyes. How is she supposed to figure this out? How is it that she'll know the answer, but not anyone else?

She just wants to _know!_

Lydia freezes, no, it couldn't be that simple could it?

With shaky fingers she types it in and hits enter.

Immediately the code starts to decipher. Name after name appearing on screen. At first she thinks it's another part of the deadpool, but none of these names have numbers next to them. "Stiles," she calls out. "I figured out the key."

A faint crash from the bathroom reaches her ears, and she'd rather not parse _what_ Stiles did to make that sound. At least he doesn't come running out right away, and his pants are zipped when he re-enters his bedroom. "You got it?" He sounds a little incredulous, like without his help figuring it out should be impossible.

She arches an eyebrow as he comes and leans over her shoulder. "Yes I got it," though only by pure chance; without that chance she has no idea how they would have figured it out.

"What was it?"

"Banshee." They both stare at the list for a good long while before she speaks again. "Is this making any more sense to you than it is to me?"

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Stiles shake his head. "No. Maybe we should take this to my dad, he can run all the names through their system and see what pops up."

It's as good an idea as any, she hits print and soon the printer spits it out, then it spits out another page, and another. She and Stiles share a look.

"Christ if this is Skynet I seriously might kill someone."

His words startle a laugh out of her as she reaches over and grabs the papers. The one at the bottom is the Lorraine code, the rest. . . "It's the deadpool," except, she looks closer. "But it's been changed." She can feels Stiles lean in closer. "Derek's not on it anymore, and," oh God. "My price went up." Her nails try to dig into her skin through the paper.

The printer is still going at it, and with each new page her panic ratchets up higher. "Stiles. Make it, make it stop." She hates how needy and panicked she sounds.

He reaches over and yanks the plug out of the socket. The printer whirs angrily, but stops printing. Warm hands, but not the hands she really wants, gently grab her hands and start uncurling them. "Are you okay Lydia?"

"No," she wants Jordan, or Peter, or fuck even Danny: someone that will hold her and not ask questions. But she only has Stiles, and his unending litany of questions.

"Look," over everything she finds herself relieved he doesn't try to hug her. "Let's go to the station and we can talk to my dad, he can help us alright? But, let me call Scott first." He lets go of her and takes a few steps away.

While he's preoccupied she pulls out her own phone, shaky fingers take longer to compose her text, but she needs to let Peter know what happened. _Derek no longer on deadpool_ part of her wants to leave it at that, but she forces herself to continue: _my price went up_.

She hits send and tries to calm the tempest inside her.

It's not until they're in Stiles' Jeep and pulling out of the driveway that her phone buzzes, letting her know she has a text.

"Who's that?" Stiles' fingers restlessly tap on his steering wheel.

She pulls her phone out of her purse. "I don't know," which is true; she _thinks_ it's from Peter, but she won't actually know until she checks. Luckily Stiles has to focus on the road and can't stare at her as she looks at her phone. _Do you want me there?_ Peter's question makes her more relieved than it has any right to.

_W/ Stiles._ Lydia finds herself wishing she wasn't though.

This time his response is almost instantaneous, _try to stay safe_.

Her exhale is shaky, grateful the sounds of the road are too loud for Stiles to notice. "Anything I should know about?"

"No," she doesn't care her reply is far sharper than it needs to be. Maybe it'll get Stiles to stop pushing.

He quickly throws her a hurt look before turning his attention back on the road. The rest of the ride to the department is silent.

Deputy Rodgers at the front desk tells them the sheriff is out on patrol, but that Jordan's in. They don't even have to actually ask her anything either, she just volunteered it. Lydia thinks that might be a sign that they're spending far too much time at the station. She even lets them in.

Jordan looks up clearly a little surprised, and pleased to see her at least, to see them walking towards his desk. "Hey, what is up?"

Reaching into her purse she pulls out Lorraine's list. "We decoded the cypher from Lorraine, but we have no idea who any of the names are." She moves around his desk so she's standing next to him, she _wants_ to touch him, but she can't at least not with Stiles here –or at least not with him asking more questions. Still being this close to him is comforting in and of itself, the air around him feels soothing and slightly cooler. She holds out the list.

"Well I should have enough access to look them up, see if we can't find something that connects them all." He gives her an earnest smile as he takes the list and shakes his mouse to wake his computer up.

He quickly types in all the names, except for Lorraine's, and the computer starts searching. Far sooner than she thought it would information starts appearing on screen. "Let's see here," Jordan clicks on the first name. "Brasch, Paula, a patient at Eichen House," Lydia finds herself stiffening, she is really starting to hate that place. "Her death was reported as a suicide."

Lydia starts getting a sinking sensation in her stomach as Jordan clicks the next name. "Chin, Elisa. Committed to Eichen House, cause of death suicide."

Again, and again, and again. By the time they have gone through all the names Stiles is jittering with excitement, "all suicides, all within the last five years. How's Eichen still in business?"

She has to agree with him on that. You would think _someone_ would find that suspicious and investigate. "But how many of those are actual suicides, and how many are faked like Lorraine's? Were these normal people or supernatural creatures?" Lydia finds it's harder for her to call Lorraine her grandmother than it is calling Natalie her mom. She isn't sure if that's because of the estrangement between Lorraine and her son, or because Lydia knows what Lorraine did. That second question though is really the most important, was _this _the start of the deadpool? Or did this inspire the deadpool? Or is it just coincidence?

Stiles shrugs. "Eichen has a records room, maybe we can find out more there."

Even though they haven't actually said they were going Lydia's already resigning herself to the fact that they are. "Great."

The smiles Stiles gives her looks like it is meant to be encouraging, but it fails. "Pretty sure it won't be as bad as anything with the Nogitsune."

Lydia shivers, the fact that Stiles is joking about _that_ is not something she appreciates. Also, she's pretty sure Stiles just jinxed them –and how is this her life that jinxing is probably a real thing? "I'll be out in a second alright?"

At least he doesn't ask about that and nods before sauntering out, once he's completely gone she turns to Jordan, patiently waiting. "Can, could I get a hug from you?"

Part of her just wants to hug him without asking, but insidiously her memory of last week's kiss has crept back into the forefront of her mind and she doesn't want to scare him away like that again; not now when there's the possibility she and Peter might test the waters with him. So she'll be polite and ask.

Without responding he stands and wraps his arms around her. "What's wrong?" One of his hands starts rubbing up and down her back.

She wraps her own arms around him and lets herself cling. "When. . ." she takes a deep breath to steady herself, she will _not_ cry. "When Stiles and I printed out Lorraine's list his printer also printed out the deadpool for some reason, and–" she chokes back a sob. "And Derek got taken off the list, and most of his money got moved to me."

Jordan's grip turns painfully tight. "Ow," his grip loosens.

"That's not making me any more comfortable with you going to Eichen." He takes a step back, but his hands stay on her. "We could just leave, go to the Winter Court anyone with any sense wouldn't even think of angering your mother, especially by trying to assassinate you."

It's so tempting to say 'yes', to just forget about everyone else and leave. She's sure she could spend whole lifetimes learning how to rule a court; but renouncing the 'normal' world like that means most likely leaving behind the friends she cares about, and definitely abandoning any hope of going to college for the time being. Let alone her relationship with Peter, God, she has no idea what sort of clusterfuck that would be; gnawing guilt at not telling him about her makes her want to leave even less.

That realization brings with it a different sort of emotion, one she would never have associated with Peter before, it's not quite love, but she doesn't know what else to call it. Still it's enough that she realizes she doesn't _want_ to leave Peter. She steps closer to Jordan again, and resumes their hug. "I, I don't think I can right now. Sorry."

He huffs, "no need to apologize. It's a decision even I'd hesitate to make. But don't forget it's an option, just say the word and we can be gone."

Relief floods her, to know that there's a plan B if Peter's plan, since when did she decide Scott's plan just wasn't going to work?, should fail. And maybe she'll trick Peter into coming with her, or just straight up glamour him; maybe Malia too, she's still too new at being human and Lydia doesn't really trust the others when it comes to integrating her. Or maybe Lydia's just biased towards herself.

"That's, that's good to know." She gives him a shaky smile.

"It's no problem," he peers at something behind her and steps away. "You should probably go, Stiles looks like he's getting impatient."

She rolls her eyes. "Trust me, that's nothing new. I'll. . .see you later?"

"Maybe," he shrugs, then appears to hesitate. "It _would_ be nice to see you when we're not dealing with life and death. There's a _lot_ of things you could still learn about us." She knows he means 'us' in the sense of the fae, but she could hope it meant 'us' as in the two of them.

"I agree," she crossed her arms, tucking her hands in. "Though I have no idea when that might happen." Part of her wants to go up and kiss him, but she's not going to do that again, not until she and Peter come to an agreement of some sort. She won't be needlessly cruel to Peter, not unless she has to be. "Talk to you later."

Jordan calls out a soft 'goodbye' as she leaves the bullpen. In the entryway she snags the back of Stiles shirt and gives a brief tug. "Come on, let us get this over with."

"Wow Lydia, impatient much?" Still Stiles follows her out to her car.

She doesn't deign that with an answer, just starts the car and points it towards Eichen.

Getting into Eichen this time is disturbingly easy this time. Lydia would have thought there would be _more_ of a staff presence in the evening, but the front desk is actually _empty_; it doesn't help her mood that she's getting a pounding headache just standing there.

Stiles probably breaks a law, but when is that new?, when he goes behind the desk to look up where Brunski's office is; he's an official they know they can bribe, because Lydia's pretty sure they don't let just anyone into the records room when they ask. "Alright got it, come on."

Rubbing the bridge of her nose to try and forestall a migraine she follows. The further in the go the more claustrophobic she feels –how could Meredith, or even Lorraine, stand to be here? They finally reach Brunski's door and Stiles doesn't bother with knocking, _typical_.

She follows more slowly, her headache feeling worse, she nearly digs through her purse to see if she has any painkillers but she resists because she has no idea what sort of image that would present. As if through water she can hear Brunski and Stiles talking, their tones derisive and dismissive.

Then they both grow silent and she realizes they are both looking at her expectantly and, _fucking seriously?_ With the most aggravated sigh she can manage, and pushing past as much of the pain as she can, she reaches into her purse and grabs her wallet. "I _was_ going to use this to pay the cleaners," not that there's a stain for them to clean up anymore anyways. "But fine." Opening her wallet she grabs two ones and concentrates as hard as she can; and hopefully before anyone notices differently they're three hundred dollar bills.

Contemptuously she tosses both on the desk and prays Brunski doesn't try to pick them up. To her own eyes they're clearly imperfect copies, ones that wouldn't even stand up to the scrutiny of a ten year old, but she's desperate enough to try anything at the moment, even with her headache. The man stares at them for a second before he smiles. "See that wasn't so bad." He turns around in his seat and grabs his key ring, at the same time turning off his ancient tape deck.

A frisson of _something_ races down her spine and she finds herself sharing a look with Stiles; the both of them managing to share with the other that something wasn't right here. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Brunski slip something else into his pocket before stepping out from behind his desk. "Follow me."

Reluctantly she and Stiles do; all the while she wishes she had a knife, an arrow, _anything_ she could stab Brunski with, because this is _wrong, wrong, wrong_. But still they follow.

Halfway down what must be the third hallway Lydia nearly turns and bolts, the claustrophobic feeling, the headache, the almost whispers she can just barely hear; it's starting to be too much. But she _knows_ they're closer to answers than they ever have before and she can't just toss that away because her head hurts.

So she just takes a deep breath and forces the pain back as best she can –Peter would be wonderful right now. Finally though they reach the door to the records room; Brunski seems to enjoy taking his time finding the right key. "You'll only have about half an hour to find whatever you want."

She and Stiles share a look of frustration, though she thinks they could find what they need in that time. Brunski opens the door and makes a sweeping gesture, "have fun kiddies."

They step in and Stiles closes the door behind them. Reaching into her pocket she pulls out Lorraine's list. She unfolds the page, then stares at it for a few moments. "Stiles. . ."

The clang of a filing cabinet fills the room as Stiles whirls around to face her. "Huh? What is it?"

"Why did you write. . ." Her brain tries to wrangle how she should pronounce the new name on the list. " Zdzisław on here?" After she says it she knows she said it wrong, but Stiles seems to get it; if the widening eyes and sudden flurry of movement towards her is anything to go by.

He nearly rips the page out of her hands. "What? Why? When?"

Lydia wonders if she should actually bother with trying to answer any of those questions, especially considering none were answerable by anyone other than Stiles. "Why are you asking me, you're the one who wrote it." Though she wonders _when_ he wrote it too, she'd thought she'd had the list on her the whole time. It must have been back at the station.

"Lydia, despite the fact that is my handwriting I'm 98 percent sure I did not write that."

His words evoke memories of the Nogitsune, and dear God they do not need another one, or anything like it really. "Who's Zdzisław anyways?"

Stiles blushes. "Uh, me."

_Wow_, she starts to speak, but stops when the door starts opening again. She catches Stiles' worried glance out of the corner of her eye and they both start shuffling back, tensing.

Brunski steps in, and while Lydia doesn't exactly relax, she's not as wary.

At least right up until Brunski doesn't say anything before going up to Stiles and coldcocking him.

Lydia cries out as Stiles goes down and she steps forward to go to him, but Brunski's hand grabs her gripping her shoulder tightly making her cry out again. This time because he's squeezing the bite Peter gave her –and if Peter's incidentally the reason she dies she's going to do her damnedest to come back and go all _Poltergeist_ on his ass. "Now, now Lydia you should be more worried about yourself."

He shoves her down and towards a support pillar. Her back hits it sharply, but it still doesn't hurt as much as her shoulder. Without even being prompted to she slumps to the floor, she thinks if she could focus through pain she could glamour her way out of whatever Brunski's planning; but the pain isn't fading away like it should.

So she doesn't fight when he starts shackling her to the pillar. She does turn her head to watch him though as he goes over to Stiles, and shackles him up too before slapping his face a few times. "Wakey, wakey Stilinski."

Stiles groans and wobbles a little, but he does seem to be coming too. Brunski leaves him and starts walking back to her, pulling something, no two things, out of his pocket. The first is a tape, which he sets down, the second looks like a pencil case. He opens it and sets it down next to the tape and Lydia shivers; hypodermic needles rest innocuously inside.

"You know I don't consider myself a serial killer, I consider it a public service. The monsters that end up here in Eichen are the worst of the worst, and even if they don't say it everyone heaves a sigh of relief when they're gone." He reaches down to and pulls out one of the needles; he checks it, but dread flicker through her when she notices he just sets it back down without depressing the air. She, she doesn't want that anywhere near her.

Brunski seems not to care about her panic, if he notices it at all, and picks up the tap. "But since I have you here," he waves the tape back and forth. "Maybe you can answer some questions for me."

Apparently tape players are a dime a dozen here in Eichen because there's one here the the records room. Brunski pops the tape in and hits the play button.

At first there's only some crackling static, then Brunski's voice, "_it's time Lorraine_." She stiffens.

"Lydia," Stiles sounds tense, and she tries to turn towards him, but Brunski's there grabbing and tilting her head, forcing her to bare her neck to him. Something in her recoils at having to do something so submissive, the prick of the needle in her neck quickly distracts her from that.

"_I know why you're here,_" Lorraine's voice is raspy and catches Lydia by surprise. _This _is her 'grandmother'? She sounds. . .she sounds tired. "_They told me you were coming," Lorraine wheezes_ and for some reason it shocks something in Lydia. _"They told me I was going to die today_."

"_Who told you Lorraine?" _Sounds of movement come out from over the tape.

"_The voices."_

The needle presses deeper into Lydia's neck and she chokes back a sound of pain. "This is where you should pay attention."

Vaguely she hears Stiles trying to say something, but she can't hear him over the tape, she barely even feels the prick of the needle anymore. "_Please don't. . ."_

"_Please don't hurt you? It's a little late for that Lorraine."_

"_Please don't hurt the Changeling, she doesn't have a choice. And please. . ." A wheezing breath. "Please be kind to my granddaughter, you'll be all she has."_

For a few seconds Lorraine's words don't register. When they do though it's a punch that leaves her breathless, _oh God_. _She knew? _And on the heels of that: _Meredith? You did that to your own. . ._

The needle presses a little deeper, bring her back to focus. "So care to explain that to me? Who's the Changeling and why am I all you have?"

Lydia blinks back tears and wishes Stiles weren't here –this is a shame she doesn't want share with him even if he doesn't understand it– at the same moment she knows that Brunski's going to die tonight.

000

Jordan has always considered himself a curious man, he feels it's what makes him a good deputy –though the glamour and his generally easy-going nature don't hurt. It helps that the Queen encouraged that curiosity, especially when it came to humans. She and Summer Queen Asha were apparently joys in that department at least when compared to the now dead Fire Queen Damasca, if the stories were to be believed. Then again part of what Jordan could remember of Lydia's father Hjörtur was that his curiosity had always seemed tempered, so maybe there was truth to the horror stories.

So he doesn't find it strange to be flipping through the reports of the people on Lorraine's list.

The fact that they're all suicides makes everything _highly_ suspect, but something tells him there's more it it than that. So he goes through each report again, eyes scanning. _. . .Brunski. . ._ he zeros in on that. Brunski's the one who reported the body?

He turns to the next report, Brunski again. And the next, Brunski. Again, and again, and again. Dread feels uncomfortably hot in his chest. He knows it could all be correlation, but the fact Brunski's the one who reported all those suicides, well it doesn't look good.

And Lydia and Stiles went to go blackmail him. . .

He gets up in a rush and practically sprints to his cruiser. Once he's on the street he turns his siren on and nearly presses the gas pedal to the floor. The car roars and leaps forward, racing towards Eichen. _Fifteen miles_, it's not too great a distance. And while he knows he needs to contact dispatch and not deal with this all by his lonesome he doesn't pick up his transceiver. It'd be hard to explain _why_ he wants the call out the cavalry to storm Eichen house, and he can't glamour his way into what he wants, it took a bit of trial and error to realizes it didn't work over radio waves.

So he'll wait until he gets to Eichen, his foot presses the gas down further. He barely pays any attention to the cars pulling out of his way, or traffic lights. He'll get to Eichen as fast as he can, come hell or high water.

When he finally does get there he doesn't even bother turning his car off, drawing his gun as he bursts through the door. The orderly starts and clearly begins to panic at the sight of him. "Calm down," he fills his voice with as much command, and glamour, as he can. " Once I leave you are going to call sheriff Stilinski and tell him to get here _now_. And you are going to stay here until he arrives."

The orderly goes glassy eyed and nods. Jordan would love to go racing in right now, but he can't waste time running about. "Did two teenagers come in recently?"

Again the orderly nods, and Jordan feels certain any human would find it disconcerting. "Yes, they went to see Brunski about getting into the records room."

"Where is that?" No point in wandering around.

The orderly gives directions without even seeming to think about it. Making sure the safety's off on his gun he heads towards the records room.

Reaching the room he, as quietly as possible, tries the door, silently snarling when it doesn't open. With his free hand he reaches out and rests it on the wood, this is his element and it _will _listen to him. He fills the door with power, quickly going to work to try and make it as weak and brittle as possible, lucky him this isn't also a reinforced steel door.

Once he feels it's weak enough he takes his hand away and steps back until he just touches the opposite wall, taking a deep breath he turns slightly so his shoulder is facing the door and charges.

As hoped the door breaks on impact, the sound loud enough to surprise everyone in the room. Jordan doesn't bother with taking in all of the room, his eyes focusing completely on Lydia; noticing only a second later Brunski kneeling next to her, _with a needle in her throat_.

Jordan-Erwann's vision goes white around the edges as rage blooms cold in his chest. Without hesitation he points the gun at Brunski. "Take your finger off the plunger and remove the needle from her neck." Anger tinges his glamour, but he can't help it; this, this. . ._human_ thought he could threaten Lydia and not suffer the consequences?

At least this time Brunski _looks_ at him, though his attitude is just as derisive as the last time they met. "What, you gonna shoot me? I bet you've never even. . ."

Jordan-Erwann doesn't hesitate. Brunski's body falls back, dead. He doesn't even care about the inquiry he knows he'll have to face for killing someone. The man deserved to die.

Flicking the safety on he steps into the room towards Lydia. She looks a little like she had the last time they were in Eichen, not all there, so he makes his movements slow and obvious. "Are you two alright?" He's more worried about Lydia than Stiles, but he should be courteous and at least ask after the both of them. Reaching up a little into his right pant leg he pulls out one of his titanium knives to cut Lydia free.

"Yeah, besides some possible mental trauma, but hey, when's that anything new?" Well he's glad to know the imminent threat of death did nothing to Stiles' ability to snark.

Halfway though the first of Lydia's restraints he feels more than anything else someone move behind him and before he can really process that realization he's dropped the knife and his body's turning gun raised, safety off in less than a heartbeat. _Meredith?_ He hesitates.

His body starts stepping back, and he can't fire his gun at her. "He did deserve to die didn't he. But he wasn't on my list." Her? Meredith's the Benefactor?

_Stars_, why didn't anyone think of it?

Meredith looks at him, her head cocked a little to the side. "I didn't want anyone to think of it."

00000

Next week: Some things come to light, and Peter and Jordan have a moment.

I hope my twist was interesting for everyone, and have fun trying to say Stiles' name.

Also some seeding of the next plot when I'm done w/ s4.


	12. Chapter 12

Lydia opens her mouth to scream. She can feel it building in her throat, but somehow she knows it's not for death, it's for pain. She can use it, get to Meredith before anything else can happen.

But Meredith sees and does _something_; and just like with the Oni a few months before Lydia feels her scream die in her throat. _Nonononono. How can she do that?_ As if nothing had happened Meredith sits across from her, cross legged, tilting her head. Now that Lydia knows the truth she can see bits of the Martins in their daughter, she has Richard's jaw and Natalie's nose. Her hair looks a lot like George's, her grandfather, does in the old photos of him before he went bald. Rapidly she begins to blink back tears, she's _not _going cry.

But she finds herself starting to squirm under Meredith's scrutiny, especially with Stiles still there, for some reason Jordan doesn't bother her as much. "You like my trick? " Meredith asks. "_They _taught it to me."

Opening her mouth Lydia tries to speak, but finds even that's taken from her. At least Stiles would most likely ask nosy questions too. "Who're _they_ Meredith?"

Meredith turns, looking as if she's forgotten about Stiles, out of the corner of her eye she can see Jordan, still squatting next to her caught in observing for now.

"The ones who took me. They taught me all sorts of things before I left. But at least they're not the ones who broke me."

Dread and fear coalesce in Lydia's stomach. And she just wants to _speak_. This isn't the sort of confirmation she'd been hoping for. It's just. . .too much for now.

As if sensing Lydia's train of thought Meredith shakes her head. "Can't let you talk Lydia, can't let you scream. Bad things happen when you scream. You need to be a quiet little mouse for me." She reaches out and gently pats Lydia's cheek. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Jordan strain to try and do something; caught up in a different variation of the same thing she is. "And it's not too much really. Too much is when you beg them to stop, but they keep on going." Anger creeps into Meredith's voice.

"I just, I wanted them to leave me alone." Meredith tilts her head again, this time so she can stare at Brunski's body. "And they all did, though he had to help." She smiles, "It's a lot quieter in here"–she taps her temple–"than it used to be. I forgot how nice that could be."

So this was all some deranged revenge plot? If Lydia could she thinks she would be laughing hysterically.

Meredith's attention snaps back to her. "_Not revenge_. They. . .no one stopped her, they should have stopped her. But no one did and they had to be taught that that wasn't acceptable." Tears fill Meredith's eyes and Lydia fights off sympathy. "It makes me want to go back to _them_, everyone there would have stopped her."

"What–" But before Stiles can continue with his question, what Lydia thinks is the entire sheriff's department comes rushing in through the door.

For a short while after that everything's a bit of a blur, in the ensuing chaos Meredith gets handcuffed and taken away, Lydia gets unbound –though still she can't speak– and so is Stiles; somehow she loses track of Jordan, though she can't tell if it's because he leaves or if he glamours himself to not draw attention to the fact that he seemed frozen in place.

Then everyone except her, Stiles, Jordan –it _had_ been glamour though how no one had run into him was beyond her, and the sheriff had left. The sheriff stands there arms crossed, "so what happened?"

And because Stiles, the lucky bastard, is the only one who can talk, he does. ". . .And Meredith did something to Lydia and Parrish and she can't talk and I'm pretty sure he's frozen," since Jordan does not dispute Stiles words Lydia assumes he is right. "Which is kind of about when you came."

Lydia's just grateful that while Stiles mentioned Meredith's mysterious '_them_' he didn't seem to actually understand what Meredith had been talking about. So she, and perhaps Jordan, is the only one who knows that Meredith is the true Lydia Martin.

"Great." The sheriff clearly looks worried by the fact she can't speak and Jordan can't move. "So how the hell are we going to fix this?"

Stiles starts pacing, clearly trying to figure it out.

Lydia has to resist the urge to go to Jordan, the Winter in her wanting to go and comfort him, but she just. . .she just can't, not after everything that happened.

"Hurt. . ." Jordan starts to flush from exertion and she worries that he might do something to himself. Something that she might not know how to fix. "Hurt me."

The sheriff doesn't look at all happy about those words but before he can say anything Stiles whirls around, grabs one of the empty needles from Brunski's case and jabs it into Jordan's shoulder. "Burning hedgehog fucker!"

Stiles scrambles out of the way and Jordan tilts forward. Though he manages to catch himself before he hits the ground. Righting himself Jordan yanks the empty needle out of his shoulder. "Hell, you didn't have to _stab_ me."

At least Stiles looks a little shamefaced at that, though the sheriff just looks resigned. "What about Lydia?" The worry in Stiles' voice for all that it's appreciated, is a bit too little too late to Lydia.

Jordan rolls his shoulder, "I'll make sure she's alright, but you two should figure out what to do with that needle, it _was_ evidence."

Which somehow makes Stiles even more embarrassed looking. The sheriff sighs, "come on Stiles."

She's a little grateful that the two of them leave as Jordan steps up to her. When they're completely alone his hands cup her cheeks, "besides the voice are you alright?"

Out of habit she starts to nod, then shakes her head; she needs to start being more truthful with herself: what happened with Meredith and Brunski makes her feel like she's been run over by a steamroller, and she would love some time alone to process everything. Though the chances of that actually happening are slim to none.

His expression turns unhappy and that makes two of them. "I'm going to try something alright? It might hurt a little and I'm going to need to draw a little blood, are you okay with that?"

Her nod is rapid and quick, while she appreciates that he's asking, she'd rather he get it done than waste the time asking.

Avidly she watches as he grabs the knife he dropped earlier and gently jabs the tip of his right pointer finger, barely grimacing as he does so. She holds out her own hand and he gratefully nods, though he nicks her wrist not her hand.

"I am Erwann, a knight of the Winter court, sworn to protect Lydia who is it's princess, while in the service of her mother, the queen. I prove my dedication to this cause by spilling blood in her name." At his final words he sets his finger on top of her own wound.

Somehow she feels the exact moment his blood mingles with her own like a bucket of ice water being dunked over her head. Though as the sensation seeps into her it doesn't feel uncomfortable at all, in fact it feels wonderfully refreshing.

Inside her it feels like parts she didn't even know she had open up as that icy chill fills her completely. Something in her mind groans and contracts, shattering a few moments later and she finds herself sighing in relief. "That's worlds better," Oh she loves that she can speak again. Earlier she'd asked him about giving her a hug, this time she doesn't bother with asking. He smells more strongly of winter than their last hug, but like Peter's smell of old books, it's a scent she finds comforting.

He only hesitates for a moment before wrapping his arms around her. Squeezing her tightly for a minute. "You are very welcome. Would you like me to take you home?" His voice is low and comforting.

She finds herself arching an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be taking me to the station to file a report?" Her words fill her with déjà vu, and when she places why she finds herself giggling.

From the looks of it Jordan catches on faster than she did, if his grin is anything to go by. "Well if you insist."

Lydia most definitely does, now that the danger has passed –relatively speaking– she wants to know _why_ Meredith did it, and most definitely how to stop the deadpool. For herself and Jordan, and Malia, if nothing else.

...

Stiles is still at the station, clearly waiting for her if his pacing is anything to go by, when she and Jordan arrive. When he sees them walk through the front door he heads over. Jordan spares her a glance, "I'm going to start on the paperwork and you can head back when you two are done talking alright?"

She gives a nod and watches him walk off, part of her wishing he would stay. Stiles actually looks a little uncomfortable as he stops in front of her. "Hey, you okay?"

Unlike with herself and Jordan, she doesn't feel bad about skirting the question with Stiles. "I'll be alright." In a year or two perhaps, if nothing else happens –and knowing Beacon Hills that's about as likely as a tornado touching down here.

He looks relieved though. "Awesome, I think. Uh, I called Scott and the others, told them what happened. Turns out they managed to find the rest of Satomi's pack, they're holed up at Deaton's until they can find a more defensible place."

It's a little galling for Lydia to realize that while she and Stiles were being tied up and nearly killed, Scott and the others were saving the lives of complete strangers. She also knows that that's highly irrational, none of the pack knew they were going to Eichen so how could they have known they were in trouble?

_Because that's how a real pack functions_, the flash of insight from the splinters of Peter still inside her doesn't surprise her. It does make a part of her want to know how it felt to feel the rest of your pack die around you, however faint.

But it also brings up the question, if Scott, their supposed Alpha, didn't realize they were in trouble, did that mean they weren't really a pack? A good question, but one she should contemplate at a later date, not dying is far more important than a bond, or lack there of, between herself and Scott.

Regardless she doesn't really want to spend more time with Stiles, she really does love him as a friend, but these past few weeks everyone her age just seems to rub her in all the wrong ways. "That's great Stiles, I need to go fill out my paperwork though, so talk to you later?"

Stiles blinks at her, she can't tell if it's in surprise at her briskness or at wanting to do something as boring as police paperwork, but he does not press. "Fine, see you tomorrow at school." He does walk her to the door between the entryway and the bullpen, but instead of following her in he chats with the deputy about making sure his dad took care of himself.

The bullpen's mostly empty, she can see the sheriff in his office, but other than that Jordan's the only one there, everyone else must be going through Eichen. Walking towards him she steals a chair from a nearby desk and moves it to be right next to his. She hesitates thought before sitting.

Jordan glances at her before returning his gaze to his computer. "You know you don't have to fill out the paperwork, I can do it for you if you really do want to go home."

Violently Lydia shakes her head, she can't go home. Natalie will be there and Lydia can't stand to look upon the woman who thinks she's her daughter right now. "I want to stay here." Raising her right hand she moves it to rest on his left forearm, the feel of his warm flesh beneath her own reassuring.

"Was. . .was Meredith, and Lorraine telling the truth? Is she the girl I was switched with at birth?"

He frowns and turns to face her completely. "What do you mean, about Lorraine?"

Oh, that's right, he hadn't been there for the tape. "Brunski played the tape he made of Lorraine's murder"–and there'd definitely been something wrong with the man if even after that he'd still claimed to not be a serial killer–"On it she said, she _asked_ Brunski not to hurt me," Lydia slides her hand down to rest on top of Jordan's. "She specifically called me Changeling. Then, she told him to be kind to her granddaughter, because he would be all that she had."

She can feel Jordan tense, then he shocks her a little by turning his hand over and lacing his fingers through her own. "I don't know Lydia, did it feel true to you?"

Her heart stutters, and she nearly denies it; For all she knew Lorraine had been so wracked with guilt over what she had done to Meredith that she actually made Meredith her granddaughter to make the guilt worse, or more understandable.

But Meredith's implied claim at having resided with the fae, rung too true, made Lorraine's words disturbingly plausible. "I do not want it to be," she finally answers.

He narrows his eyes at her, and presses. "That's not an answer Lydia. Do you think Lorraine was telling the truth about Meredith being her biological granddaughter?"

Somehow Jordan's use of the word 'biological' just drives everything home. "Yes," it comes out a sob.

The arm of her chair presses into her almost painfully as Jordan pulls her into a hug, one arm wrapping around her back, while his other hand started rubbing at her neck. "Just let it out Lydia, no one can see or hear us."

Lydia's not ashamed to admit she clings, uncaring of ruining his uniform with her makeup or her tears she lets them come; she releases great gasping sobs as she cries for a human girl who didn't deserve anything that had happened to her and she cried for herself, for what the past year had made of her. She cried because she nearly died, she even cried because her best friend is dead and not here alive, comforting her too.

The tears dried up in the end though. Still sniffling she pulls away and gives Jordan what's probably a wobbly smile. "Thank you, Erwann," she doesn't even care what sort of little debt she owes him for that 'thank you' she means it with her whole heart.

The smile he gives her in return is a small one, but it's real. "You're welcome, do you, uh, want to go to the bathroom to clean up a little?"

She nods, and letting go of each other completely they get up and he walks her to the bathroom. Inside she unflinchingly looks at herself: her mascara and eyeliner are unsalvageable and make her look like a raccoon, the rest of her isn't so bad, but she definitely looks like she just cried her heart out. With a little sigh she opens her purse and pulls out her little make up remover kit.

When she's done she stares at herself again, she looks more tired without the make up, and she has to fight that part of her that insists she put more on before walking out the bathroom door. But she overcomes.

Nearly running into Jordan, clearly waiting for her, right outside the door. He reaches out to steady her, but quickly lets go. "Come on, I'll take you home."

She shakes her head. "No, I'm not leaving until Meredith tells us how to stop the deadpool." He opens his mouth to probably protest and she shakes her head. "No, you should go, I can get the sheriff to take me home if need be."

"Lydia. . ." He clearly doesn't like the situation.

Taking a deep breath she heads back down the short hallway and into the bullpen. He follows. "Jordan. . .Erwann," This time he recoils a little at her use of his true name. "I'm not leaving, not when I have the chance to stop this right here and now. So go home, get some rest." She reaches out and squeezes his hands. "The sheriff can keep me safe if anything happens. And if I think it's getting too late I'll ask him to drive me home." She, of course, won't think it's getting too late; 'too late' at the moment means everyone she cares about is dead.

He looks unconvinced, but he extracts his hands and nods. "You _will_ send me a text when you leave."

She nods, that's an easy promise to make considering she won't be leaving. Jordan stares at her for a moment longer, as if gauging her honesty before nodding. "I'll come by when school is over and bring you here if you want?"

"I'll be fine making my own way Jordan." She gives an encouraging smile. "Now go! You look like you're about to keel over on the spot."

Lips twitching he turns and leaves, while she goes over to the row of wooden chairs that serve as a waiting area.

After a few minutes she's regretting the fact that they took Jordan's cruiser back to the station, if they'd taken her car at least she could have done homework. Sure she has her phone but she's not Stiles, who's more than willing to spend endless hours trolling the internet.

_You should probably tell Peter what happened,_ an insidious part of her whispers, _and your mother_. _Not my mother_, and isn't arguing with yourself a sign of insanity?

Regardless she's pretty sure the sheriff already called her mom, though whether or not Natalie actually comes is up for debate. As for Peter. . .pulling out her phone she opens up a text, _got attacked, but discovered Benefactor_. It's disturbingly terse, but right now she can't go into too much detail. Ignoring the apprehension roiling in her stomach she hits send and starts counting.

She hits twenty seconds before her phone rings. "_Explain_." Peter's voice is deep, angry snarl.

There's comfort to be found in his anger though, because at least it's not directed at her. Slipping her heels off she tucks her feet under her legs. "After I decoded Lorraine's list Stiles and I didn't know any of the names so we took it to the station. Jordan looked them up for us, they were all patients at Eichen and all supposedly suicides. So Stiles and I went to Eichen to bribe Brunski to let us into the records room. We got in, but he came back and nearly killed Stiles and me." Peter's snarl starts up again. "But then Jordan came in and shot him." Lydia's 98% certain there's something wrong with her when seeing someone killed in front of her doesn't phase her; Peter's snarling abruptly ends.

"Brunski," she will _not_ sob or choke up. "Brunski had a tape of him murdering Lorraine. He played it because he thought I might have some answers, she,"–Lydia nearly bites her tongue–"she said some things about me I didn't know anyone knew." At least anyone except her and Jordan.

"Lydia," Peter's voice has turned smooth and calming. "I'm coming over there."

"No!" The deputy who just came in gives her a strange look. "No," she repeats in a more reasonable voice. "I'm at the station Peter." A pointed reminder that they might be together, but nobody knows.

He sighs, "then at least tell me what she said that rattled you Lydia. You don't deserve to be rattled."

A smile briefly twitches at her lips, Peter could be such a sweet talker. But should she tell him? Did she trust him enough with letting him know she, and Jordan –did she dare out him like that?– by extension, weren't human and never had been?

The memory of her guilt and almost-love from earlier returns, a pointed realization that, yes, maybe she does trust Peter that much. "I will, I swear." She hears her mom's voice talking to the deputy at the front desk; Lydia would call it disturbingly perfect timing if she wasn't so grateful. "But my mom just came. I'll talk to you later."

Before he has a chance to answer she hangs up and quickly tucks her phone away.

"Lydia are you alright?"

With Natalie rushing towards her Lydia grudgingly gets up and lets herself be pulled into a hug. A little surprised her mom came at all, let alone this late. "I'm fine mom, she. . .she didn't do anything to me." _Except shatter my heart a little, you should be asking about _her _not me, she's your _real _daughter_. Even thinking it makes something inside her twang uncomfortably.

"You must have been so scared." Her mom, _Natalie_, _mom_ hugs her tighter. "Come on, lets get you home." She releases Lydia from the hug, only to grab her arm and gently tug her towards the entrance. The sheriff's already told her to go home but she won't until she knows Meredith's talking.

"Mom," how can she speak that if it's a lie? "I can't go, I. . ." she scrambles for a truth that is a lie. "I still need to talk with the sheriff." She hopes her. . .mom thinks she means she still has to get her statement taken.

"Oh, well." Her mom starts moving as if to sit. "Then we'll wait."

Lydia shakes her head. "I don't know how long I'm going to have to wait mom, he's interviewing other people. Go back home, I'll get the sheriff or a deputy to drive me home when I'm done."

The expression on her mom's face is an unusual one, one Lydia can't really put a name to. "Are you sure?"

"Yes mom," she lets herself hug Natalie. "I'll be fine." And she will be, once the deadpool is done and over with. Lydia sits back down as her mom leaves, grateful she didn't question more or put up more of a fight.

Sleep starts creeping up on her, but she doesn't really feel it until ten minutes later. Unsteadily she gets up and goes over to Jordan's desk; he'd left his jacket there when they'd come in and had failed to grab it when he'd left. Grabbing his jacket she wraps it around herself, for a second just standing there and breathing in his scent, before heading back over to the slightly uncomfortable 'waiting room' chairs. Curling up as best she can she readjusts Jordan's coat and closes her eyes.

She knows the sheriff won't be happy to find her here whenever he finds her here, but she's not leaving until Meredith tells them how to stop the deadpool. With that final thought she drifts off into sleep.

000

"I guess I should be thanking you."

Gun raised Jordan whirls around to see Peter only a few steps away.

He would have thought spending so much time around werewolves recently would have made him more attuned to them, but Peter's sudden appearance, in his _kitchen_ no less, has blown that hope right out of the water. Slowly, because Jordan finds himself a little unnerved by Peter –for more reasons than the debt he owes him, Jordan puts his gun down and forces himself to relax. "Do you even know _how_ to knock?"

Peter smiles. "I only knock when I'm not wanted, it's more fun that way."

Amusement bubbles up inside him and Jordan finds himself letting loose a huff of laughter. "What makes you think you're wanted here?"

Before Jordan realizes it Peter's standing right in front of him, a strange look in his eyes. "Because of what you did for Lydia." Unexpectedly Jordan feels a too warm hand brush under his chin, claws prickling.

A shiver races through him before he can stop it. "It's what I'm supposed to do." At least it comes out mostly normal. He'll protect her at the cost of his own last life if he has to, her death means the end of Winter. And it's not like he'll be stuck being dead.

Peter hums nonchalantly, but Jordan doesn't fail to notice the sharpening interest in Peter's gaze at that shiver. Almost affectionately one of Peter's claws taps Jordan's chin. "Does Lydia know that I wonder."

Jordan has the sinking suspicion Peter's not just talking about the protecting Lydia part. And he wonders if he should be more concerned that he's losing all control of this conversation than he is. "She knows I'm here to protect her." So far he feels he's done a better job of it than those people who call her part of their 'pack'; an alien idea for Jordan-Erwann, he understands courts, factions, retinues, the chains of promises and obligations most strive to escape. If he had to he would think pack was like family, yet looser. Looser than even the ties of a lord or lady to their retinue if what he's seen so far holds as the norm.

As if to pull his attention back to him Peter steps even closer, Jordan tries to step back, but it only manages to be half a step before he hits the counter. Peter steps even closer, effectively trapping Jordan and in response he feels his pulse begin to race. It's not the same sort of helplessness that affected him while Lydia was under Meredith's hold, but it's insidiously worse. He tenses, ready to act. True Lydia is with Peter, but that won't stop him from defending himself.

Laughter ghosts across Jordan's throat. "What is it about you, Deputy Jordan Parrish," the way Peter's voice wraps around that title and name makes his knees buckle, but Peter's there to catch him. "That seems to draws her and I like mayflies?"

There are _fangs_ on Jordan's throat and he can't answer because speech is beyond him at the moment. _Oh_ s_tars_, it's not enough and Jordan finds himself pushing against Peter, seeking more. This is not what he expected from the other man.

From the sound that escapes Peter it's an unexpected move, and Jordan feels pride flush through him. Only to be overcome with tingling pain as Peter bites down harder, a not so subtle reminder. Jordan lets his head fall back, exposing his throat completely. A pleased rumble leaves Peter and dances down Jordan's spine, and as if in reward clawed hands dance along the hem of his jeans.

Chills fill Jordan when those hands reach the button and zipper, making quick work of both. And a moan tears its way out of his throat when they dive right in, stroking and teasing. _Fuck_. Then they wiggle under his boxer-briefs and Jordan's vision goes a little white around the edges as blunt fingers wrap around his cock.

Peter's hands turn rough, almost angry, and the orgasm that crashes over Jordan leaves him shaky.

Paradoxically Peter's movements turn. . .not gentle, but something like it, as he lowers Jordan to the floor, refastening his jeans before taking the floor across from him.

Unwilling to shake the lassitude that's taken over him Jordan watches with hooded eyes as Peter licks his hands clean. Warm pleasure echoes through Jordan at the show, though the realization it _is_ a show drives him to speak. "Why?"

The other man shrugs as he finishes his impromptu tongue bath. "Why not?"

"You and Lydia. . ."

Peter snorts. "One handjob's hardly going to change things between her and I think, just between you and me," Peter's tone turns conspiratorial. "She'll be disappointed she missed out."

Jordan hadn't thought he could get hard after what just happened, but his cock puts forth a good effort at the mental image of Lydia perched on the counter next to them, hazel eyes avidly taking in everything.

Nostrils flaring Peter laughs, then he shrugs again. "And I wanted to test something." But before Jordan can even wonder as to what Peter means by that, the other man's expression turns serious. "I do believe this makes us even, debt-wise. I nearly killed her, and you saved her."

His brain feels foggy but he thinks that works out? Though Peter saying it is enough that the subtle tension in him eases, _equals_. It's more of a relief than it should be. "I accept the. . .the debt fulfilled."

Peter cocks his head like Jordan's said something truly interesting. And Jordan thinks he can actually see the wheels turning in Peter's head. "I accept the debt fulfilled?"

Hearing it repeated back, second nature to fae but not to others, shocks him as much as the orgasm did. The words are only a formality, acknowledging the debt as null is enough to break the tenuous tie, but one Jordan-Erwann finds comforting. "It's just a custom now, like when people ask how you are and you reply with some variation of 'fine.'" He thinks that's a good enough comparison, his thoughts currently move like quicksand.

"Hmmmm," Peter gets up. "Well I'd love to stay and chat, but I have other things I need to do tonight." He takes the two steps back over to Jordan and crouches down; and Jordan doesn't know if the hand that gets run through his hair is because of affection or just some strange perfunctory action. "You'll be alright on your own I think." He rises. "I do hope though that we see each other again soon."

The sounds of Peter's footsteps seem to echo long after he's gone. Eventually Jordan gets up the will to stand himself and somehow still feeling shaky he makes his way up to his room. Feeling too wrung out he forgoes a shower and quickly undresses, falling into bed.

And resigning himself to confusing dreams he closes his eyes.

00000

Next week: The deadpool ends, and things come to a head with Peter, Lydia, and Jordan.


	13. Chapter 13

Here it is folks, the chapter you've all been –hopefully– waiting for!

00000

Malia finds herself going to hospital, worry driving her to check on Stiles. They're not. . .together. . .dating? But he's still _pack_, and you look after pack, especially when they're injured. Even _she_ knows that; and with everyone else busy looking after Satomi's pack, which seems pointless let them look after each other –unless they all joined Scott's pack, it falls to her.

Scott's mom, who smiles and smells of the hospital and summer wind, lets her through telling her what room Stiles is in.

When she finds the room Stiles in he he's struggling to get out of the bed, not looking, or smelling, all that happy. "Stiles?"

He stumbles, barely managing to catch himself on the bed's rail. "Ma–Malia. What are you doing here?"

She starts heading to him, her ears twitch when she hears the door close and click behind her, and reaching over hauls him up. "Are. . .you fine?" That's a question normal people ask right?

For a second she thinks Stiles didn't hear her, what with the way he's staring off into space, but then he shakes his head, "What? Oh, uh, I'm good. You know, just nearly got murdered by a psychotic orderly. Nothing earth shatteringly new."

Well if he's going to be like that. She bares her teeth and growls softly, misbehaving arrogant. . ._male, _she lets him go and storms to the door, intent on leaving.

The door doesn't open.

She tries again, but still it doesn't open; she snarls. Malia nearly tries punching the door out, she doesn't exactly want to be _trapped_ here. But she knows that would cause a lot of fuss from all sorts of people and she just doesn't want to bother with that.

So she throws herself on the bed, which smells disgusting, and shifts to the edge so she can look down at Stiles; she would rather deal with him than smell this bed, even if he is being stupid.

He's sitting on the floor, staring at the wall across from him. "Sorry Malia, I'm just frustrated. Lydia and I found the Benefactor, but the deadpool's still running. I just," he sighs. "It feels like things used to be a lot easier."

Malia thinks she gets that, and frowns a little. "Where is Lydia?"

Stiles runs his hands through his hair and tilts his head up, giving her a noseful of his ginger scent. "Last I saw her, she was a the station, trying to talk to Meredith."

Now she really is frowning. "Meredith? But she tried to to help us."

"Yeah, I don't really understand her either, though I wouldn't really call her of sound mind."

Silence falls between them, unusual for Stiles but Malia will take it. Things feel unfinished, and it bites at her like fleas, but she's not sure what to do to fix it. She finds the longer she remains human the more she wishes speaking came easier; and it's not just trying to find the actual words to say that gnaws away at her, it's also the possibility of saying the wrong thing and having everyone laugh at her –internally if not externally.

So where she was once gregarious, always conversing with her fellow coyotes, she's now quite and tries to plan what she says over and over in her head; so much so that the strings of words start becoming meaningless to her.

But she can't leave herself and Stiles like this, and not just for them, but for the whole pack as well, so she chews on the inside of her lip for a few seconds before forcing herself to just speak. "Look Stiles, I. . ." she bites back the urge to howl, though at least that might get someone who can open the door. "I still really. . .care. . .about you, you're _pack_." Coyotes don't form packs the same way wolves do, but the idea isn't foreign to her. Still humans are strange about that sort of thing; and once again she finds herself wishing for four paws instead of arms and legs, only being able to get pregnant in the early spring instead of this horribly monthly cycle, the taste of young rabbits rooted out from their warren or young fawns, no thoughts about things like the 'future' or 'education' just the woods and your body.

Stiles sighs again, pulling her out of her thoughts. "I. . ." another sigh. "I'm just going to have to accept that aren't I?" He jerks his head back to hit one of the bed's metal legs.

"Yes?" Though she thinks that might have been one of those questions she isn't really supposed to answer.

The click of the door sounds far too loud in the ensuing silence. But Malia doesn't question it and just bolts.

000

Blearily Lydia opens her eyes, surprised to see it's morning, and that she'd awoken without disturbance. That last part's quickly rectified though as the sheriff steps out of his office as she's rubbing sleep from her eyes. He strides over, not angry but definitely resigned. "Lydia, I'm fairly certain I told you to go home last night."

Lydia's not sure she accurately conveys her 'bitch please' face considering it's interrupted by a yawn, but she's not about to try again. "And I told you sheriff I'm not leaving until Meredith tells us how to stop the deadpool." And she won't, she needs to know once and for all that she's safe, that Jordan's safe, that Malia's safe.

He sighs, but before he can say anything Jordan and a female deputy are approaching them. the other deputy speaks first. "Well CSI didn't find any papers, but they're just starting on the hard drive so we'll have to wait and see if it turns anything up. At the very least they seem to be enjoying themselves, they had to haul one of the ancient computers out of storage to actually access it."

Jordan steps up to her as the sheriff and the deputy continue to talk. "You were supposed to go home last night." His eyes narrow. "And you most definitely should be in school."

She clutches his jacket closer to her, which is about the same time he notices she's wearing it if his blush is anything to go by. "Not until Meredith talks," she reaffirms. "And the Sheriff sent off an excuse to the school," or at least he will if she has anything to say about it, and won't it be a little amazing to have an excused absence?

His sigh is fond and exasperated, and she feels more pleased by it than she probably should. "Well considering it hasn't happened yet you might be in here for a while."

That's not good enough for Lydia, the sooner this is dealt with the better. "Sheriff, I have a solution to our problem," Lydia shifts. "But you might not like it."

The sheriff heaves a weary sigh. "At this moment Lydia I'm willing to entertain dancing bears if it gets us the answers we need."

000

Peter sidles up to Lydia, feeling smug. It's always good fun when she has to rely on him for answers, even still with the change in their relationship since the last time. Crossing his arms he stares at the girl sitting in the interrogation room. "Her? _She's_ the Benefactor? She doesn't even look like she could organize a grocery list." As if to prove his words the girls eye's start darting around, as if looking for something.

"_She's_ a banshee, I'd thought you'd know better than to underestimate us." Acerbic Lydia is always fun. Now the girl's head has started moving too, as if doing that will let her see more than she can with her eyes.

He arches an eyebrow; footsteps start down the hall and he already can tell it's Parrish and the sheriff. "Are you sure about that? And I'd never underestimate you Lydia." He can't, not when he knows exactly how much power she has.

In the room the girl bolts upright, her chair clattering to the floor. Her voice comes, faint but clear through the glass. "Who's he Lydia? Why are you thinking about someone like he's right there when you're all alone?! There are others coming but you're alone!"

Deciding he's had enough of paying attention to the girl he focuses completely on Lydia. "Her own words speak differently, it seems I'm your very own Outis."

Apparently Parrish is close enough to hear him because he joins in Lydia's sniggering. Though as they finally step up beside them the sheriff looks confused. "What's so funny?"

Smothering her laughter Lydia gives his chest a comforting pat. "Don't worry Peter you're not nobody to us." Jordan flushes a little, and Peter feels smug.

Enough so that he smiles. "It's the name Odysseus gave the cyclops, it means 'nobody'. Sheriff it's good to see you."

"Peter Hale, right? Stiles' told me about you." His tone's wary but his scent is resigned.

"I'd hope it's all good, but I know Stiles too well. Regardless sheriff I can help."

His attention's distracted a little by Jordan and Lydia, they chat, or maybe it's Jordan chiding Lydia, briefly about her not going home the other night. Peter. . .doesn't know how to feel about that. Lydia seems unbowed though, as she should, "just let me talk to Meredith again before Peter does. Maybe she'll talk to me now."

Jordan gives a rueful smile. "Sheriff?"

The man sighs, "go on, doesn't hurt to try."

They go in and Peter watches avidly through the two-way mirror. "Are there cameras in there?" It never hurts to ask.

"Not in that room."

Intriguing, but he'll wonder on that later. "You know sheriff I'm not going to do this for free."

He stiffens. "What are you saying?"

Even if the man can't see it Peter finds himself smiling, most likely one of those melodramatic villain smiles. "I'm saying that in return for this you need to do something for me." His senses tell him there's no one around to overhear or suddenly approach; he's sure the sheriff would rather not be caught doing something so corrupt as quid pro quo.

"And what, exactly, is it that you're wanting?" At least the man isn't balking.

Peter waits a little while before answering, even though he knows exactly what he's going to ask for. "There's an APB out on me after I. . .discharged myself from the hospital." Granted it's been a year, but that sort of loose end could end badly for him. "I'd like you to retract it."

Once again he smells resigned when he finally answers. "Fine. What are you going to do to her anyways?"

Peter takes a deep centering breath, he needs focus otherwise he's liable to get 'lost' as it were. "I'm going to tap into her mind, for lack of a better term, it's a rare skill and very. . .finicky."

Which earns him an arched eyebrow. "Does it work?"

"Of course it works," Peter's not one to do pointless things. "It got you your son back a few months ago. If she knows how to stop the deadpool I'll find it. Though a word of advice Sheriff, don't. . .do anything sudden. If my hand slips I could do permanent damage." Then again if she really is the Benefactor he's tempted to have his hand. . .'slip' anyways.

The Sheriff crosses his arms. "Is that a threat Hale?"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes Peter steps towards the door, taking one last look through the mirror at Jordan and Lydia, he can't hear what either are saying to the girl, though from their body language he can see they're giving up on trying to talk to her. "Please, it wouldn't be worth my time." Without waiting for the sheriff's reply he walks to the door of the interrogation room and knocks.

It shouldn't surprise him that it's Jordan who opens the door, but it does. Jordan doesn't say anything as he opens the door wide and gestures for Peter to come in. The girl stares at him as he walks in, like she can't process what she's seeing. She tries to shrink back, but the metal seats don't really allow for it. "H. . .h. . .how? Why can't I read you? I can read everyone, they made sure of that."

As casually as he can he strolls over to the table, he doesn't look at the girl though, he looks at Lydia. "You said she was a banshee sweetheart, not psychic." It makes too much sense for it not to be true.

Though it looks like he can't be read for some reason. Intriguing.

Everyone, well except for Meredith, starts a little at his words. He stares at her, though she does not seem to want to meet his gaze. "I'm right aren't I?" He pulls out the chair across for her and sits. "All this time everyone thought you were a banshee, but you're not." Tilting his head he narrows his eyes. "But you can't read my mind? Curious."

Crossing his arms, he leans back in his chair. "Meaning you have no idea what I'm really going to do. So why don't you answer Lydia's and the nice deputy's questions, or we'll have to do things my way." He gives her a toothy smile.

Meredith shakes her head, "no. They all need to be punished, to know it's unacceptable."

Turning his head a little he throws a glance at Lydia, not asking for permission as such, but more like 'you can't blame me for what happens next'. Either Lydia somehow gets that message or she thinks he's being overly dramatic, and rolls her eyes.

In a flash he's upright, chair clattering against the wall and barely a blink later he's moved the table from between them as well, though apparently he could have aimed that one better –one of Jordan's arms flies out to yank Lydia out of the table's path.

But he can't focus on any of that, claws coming out he pulls Meredith towards him –he absently hears the sheriff cock his gun and Lydia's 'no!'– forcing her head forward and driving his claws into her spine.

The connection takes a little longer to bridge than it should, he chalks it up to her mental state and abilities, but then he's 'in'.

Meredith's mind is a fog, hazy and chaotic, a veritable swamp, and Peter finds himself certain if he's not careful he might start losing his own hard won sanity. There are no paths at all, not that he expected any really, so it looks like he'll be doing most of this blind as it were.

At least he doesn't have to wander around aimlessly; he knows exactly what he's looking for.

In a way minds are a bit like word association games if you're a bat, you said something and waited to see what echoed back to you; if you're lucky you find the right trail on the first go. Peter's gotten good at this, so he knows exactly what to say:_ bearer bonds_. Money's too vague, but 'bearer bonds' would hopefully be something only associated with the specifics of the deadpool.

It takes a little while for the echoes to come back, and they're a bit more distorted than one would find in a 'normal' mind, but they're good enough for him. Especially when he gets all sorts of wonderful options to choose from: _the plan make them _pay_, untraceable, _and oh so very quiet: _the list_.

He latches on without a second though and hurls himself towards that train of thoughts and memories. He can feel her trying to stop him, but it seems she's just as unable to touch him in her own mind as out in reality. Which means he can focus completely on finding out what he wants.

Time doesn't have much meaning in the mental plane, so he reaches what passes as a nexus in Meredith's mind instantaneously and some time later. He waits there briefly before talking what stock he can of the 'area'; surprised when he sees the sort of thought threads he associates with a 'sane' mind.

Mental hands ineffectually pull at him as he starts plucking threads. _Money safe Cayman's account_, well that will make getting his money back a little more difficult. He lets a brief burst of anger 'escape' at that, throwing Meredith's mental presence back. He plucks a thread attached to the _Cayman_ thought and gets a name, number, and passcode. _Fantastic, _exactly what he wanted.

Now to make Lydia happy. . .

He flickers around the node for a few seconds, for forever, before settling on another thread to pluck. He chooses one on the 'opposite' side of the _Cayman_ one and tugs. _Push myself, sift through all the minds, can't hurt humans they didn't know._ Peter stills the thread, useless.

He gets through three more before finding what he needs: _Computers, old computers, Lorraine said they started her, now she is dead and _I _can use them, use them to make everyone else pay!_ The right track but no indication of _where_ these computers are.

So, focus a little more on Lorraine perhaps. A memory catches him up:

_Warm dry hands lead her down, "my husband didn't understand why I asked him to move these here to Eichen," a flicker of a smile, "but maybe you will."_

_In the basement there's barely any illumination, but she can still see in a tucked away corner strange towers that hum._

"_They're from my old job," the hum gets louder as they get closer, until they seem to overwhelm everything else._

Peter wrenches himself out of the memory, and Walker's mind with a grunt. Walker scrambles away from him, curling into a corner and crying; not that Peter cares. "I know where the computers are." 

000

Danny's half-bored out of his mind in chemistry, sure no one'd _liked_ Harris but at least his stuff had been vaguely challenging Mrs. Martin just sticks to the textbook, when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

He glances up to the front of the class to make sure Mrs. Martin's still writing on the whiteboard before pulling his phone out and opening the text message he'd just gotten from Lydia: _Call me, ASAP!_

Putting his phone away he looked back up to see Mrs. Martin finish her sentence and start turning around, so he throws his hand up. "Yes Danny?"

"I need to use the restroom." Lucky him the pass is sitting on her desk, and not already out.

"Alright," she gestures at the hall pass. "But I'm timing you." That's a lot of distrust for her to have for one of Lydia's friends, but he's not going to push that timing _him_ but not Carol who last used the pass, and spent nearly half an hour in the bathroom smoking, is totally unfair.

So he just gets up, and snags the pass on his way out, once in the hall he jogs to the nearest bathroom, he's a little worried about Lydia, especially since she didn't come to school again today –she kept this up and _he's_ going to be valedictorian. _What have you gotten yourself into Lydia?_

In the bathroom he pulls his phone out and hits the eight on his speed dial –Lydia used to be three but their drifting apart shifted her way down the list. "Hello?" Lydia sounds different than she did last time they talked, though he can't exactly pinpoint what.

"Hey, you told me to call?" He finds the fingers of his free hand start tapping against one of the faucets.

Over the line he hears the voices of a few different men, where the hell is she? "Yes. So, we found out where the deadpool is, but we need your help to turn it off. We hope."

"'We hope'? That's not exactly comforting." He's more than happy to help, but that didn't mean he's going to throw his life away.

She sighs, "look all we found out is that it's being kept on an old bank of computers in the basement of Eichen House. If you say 'yes' the the sheriff's going to come pick you up and escort you there, so you hopefully don't get stopped and questioned."

Well that'll be an interesting change from the usual at least. "So what exactly do you want me to do?" That feels like a good thing to clarify now.

"Find a way to turn them off, stop the deadpool, whichever is fastest."

So she's going with the KISS method then, Danny can appreciate that. "If I do this will I be in any danger?"

She doesn't answer for a little while. "I don't. . .think so?" She sounds unsure. "As far as we know there isn't anyone there protecting the computers, but if there is the Sheriff can at least help you." Though Danny thinks he might be better off on his own; he's never killed anyone but he's sure he could do it at least in self-defense.

"I think I can live with that, so sure. I'll help." Do good and good comes back, right?

A shuddering sigh escapes Lydia, "thank you." He's never heard her sound so relieved in all the time they've known each other. "The sheriff will be there soon alright?"

"Yeah, okay. I'll, uh, talk to you later?"

"I hope so," she hangs up.

He hangs up as well, and heads back to class, trying to ignore the knot of tension starting up in his belly.

Fifteen minutes later, an office aide comes into the class, handing a note to Mrs. Martin. She opens in and blinks and even though Danny knows what's on it he still does his best to act surprise when Mrs. Martin calls his name. "Danny, seems you're wanted in the principal's office."

Danny packs all his stuff away and follows the aide back to the principal's office where the sheriff was waiting. "Come on," the sheriff tells him. "I already explained everything to the principal and you've got an excuse for the next few classes."

Which is kind of cool. "Thanks," though he hopes it wouldn't take _that_ long.

When they're in the cruiser the sheriff sadly doesn't turn on the siren, which is kind of sad, but at least this time Danny isn't in the back.

The ride to Eichen is done in tense silence and when they finally pull into a parking spot the sheriff turns to him. "Now let me do all the talking, understand?"

Even though he isn't going to say it Danny mentally thinks _'duh'_. "Wasn't planning on talking," he replies.

As they go up the steps the sheriff pulls himself a little straighter, and Danny wonders how worried his is. At the front desk the sheriff flashes his badge. "I'm going to need access to your basement."

"Of, of course sheriff," the orderly says, his expression looking a little nervous. He grabs a ring of keys. "If you'd follow me."

When the orderly opens the basement door for them the sheriff grabs the other man's arm for a moment. "Once we go in you're going to leave and make sure no one else comes down understand?"

The orderly swallows, but nods.

Danny and the sheriff go in. "Where exactly are the computers?" Hopefully the sheriff knows, this basement isn't exactly the most orderly of places.

"Ah, one of the corners, they're apparently tucked out of the way."

Well that makes sense, The sheriff starts walking and Danny follows.

Danny thinks it takes them about ten minutes to find them, and when they do Danny lets himself gape and stare a little. There are two computers that he can see, humming away, they're basically relics from the stone age and he can't believe they're actually _working_; but disregarding all that Danny kind of loves them, and the fact they're so old tells him all he needs to know about why he couldn't hack them.

"So what do you need?" The sheriff's question makes him jump a little.

Danny doesn't answer just yet, instead stepping up to the computers and looking them over. "Well it looks like there's a keyhole, it would probably be too much to hope that you might have the key?" It's most likely a shot in the dark, but leave no stone unturned.

The sheriff gives a dry laugh for a second, "I wish son. But no."

He'd thought so, so: despite the fact it would be a shame to destroy them, what would be the best way to do it? To be safe he probably should do both, in case the second is a backup.

"Well then we're going to have to exploit the one weakness all computer systems have." Shrugging off his jacket he starts wrapping it around his elbow; sure he could just _melt_ the glass, if he didn't mind the sheriff knowing, or wasting more time than they really had.

"And what's that?"

Pulling his arm back a little, Danny rams his covered elbow into the glass. "People."

As he's clearing away enough of the glass that he can reach through the sheriff gives a little sigh and holds out a baton, "you could have asked."

Danny feels his ears pinken as he reaches out with both hands, grabs the tape, and –adding a little heat to his hands– just tears it in two. The ragged ends start _fwip-fwip, fwip-fwip_-ing against the sides as the spokes keep turning. Now for the second one. . ."I'll, uh, take that baton if you're still offering it."

The sheriff hands it over without question and Danny quickly repeats the process. As he's handing the baton back though he notices what looks like a computer only a little less ancient than the ones he just destroyed. Hoping that this isn't some third, much harder to destroy, backup he steps around the other two and blinks when he sees that someone jury-rigged what might have been a first gen Macintosh up to yet another monolith computer.

"Something we should be worried about?"

"I'm not sure," He answers slowly as he stepped up to it. The Macintosh already has something open on it's tiny screen; the deadpool interface from the looks of it, though probably the master end. Indeed when he's finally close enough he sees quite a bit more green text than what he remembered from the user end.

Encouragingly the first few lines basically read 'cannot access kill list', though that would only stop people who didn't already have the list. Gnawing on his lip for a moment he sets his fingers on the keyboard and begins to type. Not giving himself time to second guess he hits the enter key.

"What'd you do?" The sheriff asks.

Danny pulls out his phone, and blinks in surprise that he still has service. "Hopefully stopped any current assassins." He shoots of a text to Lydia, letting her know what he did and that he needed confirmation that it happened. "And now we wait," part of him wants to leave –this place is seriously creepy. But he'd rather not have to leave and come back because they somehow missed something.

Luckily it only takes a few minutes before Lydia responds. After reading it he finds he's grinning almost too widely. "Yes! I did it! Fuck yeah!"

Out of the corner of his eye Danny sees the sheriff shudder a little, hopefully in relief, before managing a small smile of his own. "Good job son. Now we should get you back to school."

He looks at the sheriff aghast. "I saved everyone's lives and you're making me go back to school?" Harsh man, harsh.

"Yes," the sheriff says flatly.

000

Soon after the sheriff leaves Lydia goes over to Meredith and gently helps Walker up, escorting her to the door; while worry lingers in Lydia's scent, it's nearly overwhelmed with relief that the deadpool is hopefully over. He's relieved too.

Peter takes a step forward to follow them, but Jordan puts an arm up to hold him back. Which Peter easily pushes aside. He goes into the hall and watches Lydia.

Jordan pulls some of his attention away though when he grabs Peter's arm. "You and I need to talk." He'd wondered when Jordan's spine was going to return –not that Jordan lets Peter walk all over him.

He doesn't answer right away, instead watching Lydia and the Walker girl go over to the row of chairs that serve as a waiting area and make themselves comfortable. Walker probably wouldn't attempt anything, but Peter would rather be safer than sorrier when it comes to Lydia; so he only turns his full attention back to Jordan when he is sure she's safe enough. "Alright."

Jordan, smelling of nerves and resolve, leads him down towards what's probably the drunk tank; though if Jordan thinks being next to a cage is going to make him nervous he had another think coming. "About last night. . ."

Peter can't help his arched eyebrow. "What, do you regret it?" Then again, if Jordan asked _him_ that question Peter has no idea how he would answer.

Jordan's. . .an uncertain path; almost, but not quite, a mistake. Peter knows he's not infallible but, outside of biting Scott his record's never been the worst. Even then he's never really regretted any of the decisions he's made –Paige perhaps being the only exception to that rule.

And he doesn't know if the world's trying to teach him a lesson of some sort, or if it's just laughing at him: putting Lydia –the only person to truly test his self control– in his path; and then having her find someone who _also_ pushes the boundaries of his self control, if last night was anything to go by. Yes, at the very least the world is busting a gut over his current predicament.

The other man's blush is almost prettier than Lydia's. "I, don't know." Well _that's_ unexpected. Even though to another wolf it would have been highly rude, Peter tries to unobtrusively lean in a little closer to smell him better: under the nerves and resolve –in fact it's so close to Jordan's base scent that Peter nearly misses it– Peter catches a whiff of what most would consider attraction but Peter well know was interest. "But I want to know why you did it." The icy scent that is Jordan's resolve overwhelms everything so much that for a second Peter thinks he somehow stepped into a cold winter's day.

Lie his ass off or tell the truth? While as a general principle Peter's loathed to tell the truth to any sort of do-gooder –see Exhibit A: Scott McCall– Jordan's, well not exactly that. A part of him starts to wish they'd never met at all. "I told you, I wanted to test something."

"Test what?" _Of course_, Jordan's not going to leave well enough alone. Just his luck.

Again Peter faces the branches of truth or lie. _Lydia would want you to tell the truth because she wants you both._ But what did _he_ want? Lydia made him nearly content, gave him a challenge and pushed him in ways he hadn't been pushed in a long time –or at least it feels that way. But Jordan? He's a wildcard, an unknown factor in the little equation of Lydia and him and, and Peter doesn't know what to make of it.

He's always preferred men who were more submissive, and Jordan's not exactly that, at least outside of possibly sex –the way he had just _let it happen_ last night makes Peter feel a little wild and more than willing to press his luck again and piques the wolf's interest. Which was the true shock of last night.

At. . .at least some of the truth then. "A fancy. Lydia can be very insistent with her wants, and I find myself. . .marginally interested in a proposition of hers. So a test of possibility." An answer he hopes satisfies.

"Why does Lydia mean so much to you?"

Absent Moon. Peter nearly turns and runs, runs as far and fast as he can. To admit to someone what Lydia means to him? Werewolves don't have 'true mates' but she's _pack;_ that without her he might very well be the ravening monster Scott paints him as still. It even makes his wolf nervous. He met this man only two days ago and he wants Peter to bare his soul to him? _No_. Then again maybe he should be grateful that Jordan didn't ask about what Lydia's proposition was. Peter didn't think she would appreciate him spilling her secret, as it were, like that.

So Peter curls his lip in a snarl. "I don't think you've earned that answer from me." Peter has to bite his tongue before a 'yet' can escape.

For a few agonizing heartbeats Peter fears Jordan will press, but then his shoulders slump a little. "Fair enough. Then maybe you can answer another question for me. I know some about werewolves, but not a lot about their relationships and, I want to better understand pack."

While that's rocky ground for Peter, he's much more willing to talk about that than his and Lydia's relationship, and even though it's not a question Peter isn't going to quibble about the change in subject. So he takes a deep breath; he can do this, it would just being like trying to teach Scott, if Scott had bothered _listening_ those first few days. "To a werewolf, at least a born one, pack is everything." A smile twitches at his lips. "The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."

Jordan narrows his eyes. "That's from a book."

Peter doesn't bother hiding his burst of laughter. "True, but the sentiment is the same. When you're born into a pack they're your family and friends, the ones who will stand with you against everyone else –even if they don't like you at the moment." He and Talia went through enough of that over the years.

"And if you lose them," he tries for a nonchalant shrug. "It can very well drive you mad." It's a bit more than he actually wanted to say, but he hopes just continuing on will distract Jordan from that. "I do believe it's different for bitten werewolves, but I obviously wouldn't be able to tell you more than that. I would tell you to ask Scott about it," he rolls his eyes. "But I believe he still has some sort of false hope that there's a cure. And well, the only one of Derek's Beta's that's still alive is off gallivanting across the French countryside."

Jordan doesn't respond right away, but eventually he nods. "It's a good enough answer for me, I appreciate you telling me."

"Hardly a bother," it's even only half a lie. "Now if you'll excuse me," Peter glances over to see Lydia watching as people from Eichen take Walker away. "Lydia and I need to have a little chat." He thinks maybe there's something in Jordan worth pursuing. Or perhaps it's just their conversation about pack driving him to come to different conclusions.

Either way, it's something to look into.

000

Lydia happily lets Meredith curl up beside her, though it must be awkward for Meredith with the handcuffs, resting her head in Lydia's lap. Almost without thinking Lydia starts to run a hand through her hair; in fact it feels like second nature, a thing that happens all the time between fae and their Changlings.

She finds herself struggling with the need to say something, but not knowing _what_ to say; being at a loss for words is a new and uncomfortable sensation for Lydia. It's not like she _knows_ anything about Meredith: her likes, dislikes, hopes, what she wanted to do –besides paying people to kill supernatural creatures as a strange form of revenge.

There is one thing they do share, roundaboutly. "What was it like? Living there?" If her words don't get her point across she's sure her mind does.

"Warm," Meredith turns her head a little to meet Lydia's eyes. "It. . .it was the Summer Court," strange, Lydia wonders if that's typical or if it was another way for her kidnappers to throw the scent off them. "There were always flowers, and it smelled like honey and fruit. Not everyone was kind to me but," Meredith shrugs. "They weren't cruel to me either. And Iestyn looked after me."

"Iestyn?"

"He. . .he is, was, _is_ a ceffyl dŵr," Meredith breaks their gaze. "He taught me how to tell good food from bad, he brought me clothes, he used to joke that he could use my diapers to kill travelers." A small smile creeps across her mouth, just as quickly it vanishes and Meredith tries to curl up into herself more. "I think. . .I think I killed him."

_Meredith found Eichen covered in blood_. Meredith stiffens. Lydia's hand moved from Meredith's hair and down to her hands, taking both as best she could and squeezing them.

Lydia's phone buzzes and she jumps a little before pulling it out of her pocket and checking it, a text from Danny. Her shoulders slump as she finishes reading it, what a relief. As she relaxes though Meredith tenses; Lydia ignores it for a moment in favor of texting Scott, hoping he could confirm Danny's claim.

Only a few seconds after she sends the text Scott answers, and even though things are tense between them she's still relieved that he answers and that the deadpool was well and truly done for. She shoots off a final text to Danny letting him know, so he and the sheriff don't have to stay at Eichen any longer.

Now that the pressure of the deadpool is gone Lydia feels like she can actually breathe again, breathe enough that she can _think_. Reaching out she threads her fingers through Meredith's hair again. "Meredith, I'm. . .I'm sorry, for what I did to you."

Meredith shivers a little. "It, it wasn't that bad. Not like Lorraine."

Lydia shakes her head, even though Meredith can't really see it. "That. . .that doesn't change anything Meredith, I shouldn't have done it. I. . .I wouldn't have if I knew what I was doing." But now that this is over she's going to sit down with Jordan and _insist_ on lessons, she needs to have control.

"Control isn't easy." The fact that Meredith can read her mind is going to take some getting used to. "Though that might be from growing up here, and not with your people. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing there."

That isn't as comforting as Meredith probably means it.

"Not trying to comfort. Your people might miss you." She shifts to sit upright.

_The missing Winter princess, _"I've never even met them." But maybe now she can.

Meredith looks Lydia in the eye. "I've never really meet anyone from the Winter Court before. Only seen them at the solstices. I didn't think you'd feel so. . .warm."

"Thank you, I think." On impulse Lydia reaches out, "I'm going to hug you." Just _doing_ it to someone like Meredith feels wrong. Meredith doesn't resist as Lydia completes her embrace. "I'm sorry," she says again as she squeezes a little.

"I. . .forgive you. You didn't mean it, not really. You just wanted to save yourself."

Lydia shake her head, "that's no excuse for my actions. If I could I'd give you back to your parents." But she can't believe that would ever go well.

Meredith shakes her head. "It doesn't work like that Lydia." She starts, that's the first time she thinks Meredith's used her name. "They don't know, it wouldn't be fair to them." Meredith smiles. "Eichen isn't so bad once you get used to it. The minds there are soft, they don't hurt me on accident, or purpose."

"You shouldn't have to go back there, it's not fair to _you_. Would it be possible to. . .take you back to Summer?" Though she would have no idea how that would work, maybe she could ask Jordan about it?

Another head shake. "Please don't. I, I don't think I'm welcome there anymore."

There's a brief commotion at the front and Lydia turns to see two orderlies, clearly from Eichen, talking to the officer at the front desk. "Looks like your time's up."

She gets a smile in response and Meredith reaches out to cup her cheek, "you speaking to me is. . .wonderful, you understand."

Lydia manages a watery smile in response. She stands and helps Meredith do the same. The two orderlies approach, one of them smiles. "Hello Meredith, time go come back." It doesn't take Lydia long to realize Peter is standing next to her.

Meredith gives a shy duck of her head. "Alright, George."

She watches as they lead Meredith away before paying attention to Peter. "What?" If they were in private she wouldn't be so short with him, then again if they were in private she's pretty sure they would be embracing.

"Nothing," Peter's practiced nonchalant tone tells her otherwise. "Just wondering if you'll ever ask that deputy of yours out for coffee," false sarcasm laces his voice, at least to her it does; she almost wants to ask one of the random deputies their perception of this conversation. Peter clearly wants to talk, just the three of them, though to what end is still unknown. Still that doesn't stop her heart from picking up a little, because this is _fun, _this sort of sniping subterfuge adding a new element into their relationship.

Crossing her arms and giving a haughty sniff, she narrows her eyes in mock disgust. "Please, like my lovelife is any of your business. Though I wouldn't have thought you all would gossip more than old grannies." Try as she might she can't really suppress her twitch of a smile.

Peter's smile sends a different sort of excited shiver through her. "Oh, we don't gossip Lydia," he leans down a little. "I just find myself. . ._invested_ in you." He leans even closer still, his breath just barely touching her ear. "Cardamom and Green over on Alder?"

He pulls back and arches an eyebrow, as if asking her if she knows of it. She nods, while she prefers Beacon Brewers, Cardamom and Green is just as nice and it won't be flooded with her peers when school gets out. "You should think about it," Peter raises his voice to a little above normal conversation level. "You could use a new toy in your life."

Lydia finds herself sputtering angrily, probably Peter's intention, as he turns, tucks his hands into his pockets and nonchalantly begins to whistle as he leaves the department.

That annoyed anger might be worth it though, just for the way the sheriff nervously waits for her to calm down before approaching. "Was Hale bothering you?"

She laughs. "No more than usual sheriff, and I know how to handle him." She nearly laughs again at her unintended double entendre.

The sheriff looks a little dubious. "If you say so, but it you ever feel threatened at the very least I can serve an Order of Protection."

His words are touching, and she gives him a real smile. "I appreciate that sheriff. But I believe I'll be fine." Not giving him a chance to respond she walks off towards Jordan, intent on getting him to say yes to breakfast.

As she walks her stomach rumbles, reminding her of the disquieting fact she hasn't eaten since lunch yesterday. _As good line as any really_, she thinks as she stops next to his desk and leans her hip against the edge. "Have you eaten?" Even if he has she thinks she can convince him to come with her.

He finishes typing something on the computer before turning to her. "I had a cup of coffee,"–too bad it would be highly presumptuous to start buying bags of beans–"but I was just planning on browsing out of the doughnut box in the break room."

"Well I think you should take me out to breakfast, because I'm starving." She plucks briefly at his shirtsleeve, as if that's somehow enough to get him to say yes.

"What about Peter?" His tone is. . . odd.

She rolls her eyes, hoping that will cover much. "He won't mind." She has to stop herself there or she's liable to tell him that Peter will be waiting for them, though Peter never said _not_ to tell Jordan that; in fact she thinks it might be kind of rude, no matter how much Peter would probably prefer it, to just corner Jordan like that. So she gives a little sigh. "In fact if we go to Cardamom and Green he'll be waiting for us. I think he wanted to talk to you, well the both of us."

Jordan tenses a little. "That's very upfront of you."

Arching an eyebrow she gives him a flat look. "Why not be upfront with you?" She shrugs. "The way I see it you can say yes to both and I can indulge in dosa and the best scones in town, you can say yes to breakfast and I'll probably insist you take me to The Bakery, or you say no to both in which case I hope one of the deputies brought my car in and drive myself to breakfast. Regardless of _your _decision, I'm leaving and going to eat."

He looks torn, but she doesn't press just lets him come to whatever conclusion he wants. When he stands she knows he's decided to at least go with one of the 'yes' options. "Where's Cardamom and Green?" He asks as he shrugs on his jacket.

"I'll give you directions while you drive."

They head out to his car, and out of the corner of her eye she sees him lift the collar of his jacket up to his nose, clearly trying to smell herself on his jacket.

000

They don't talk much beyond Lydia giving directions as they head towards Cardamom and Green, and Peter. . .Jordan has a creeping feeling things are going to change today, whether he wants them to or not. It almost makes him want to run into the woods and burrow into some tree's roots; it's the coward's road, but it's so very tempting to try and follow, in a way, his sister's path.

Thinking of his sister though reminds him full well what she'd probably tell him if she were still here to knock sense into him: _Live!_ Not quite her dying wish, but still a tall order.

As he gets out of the car he finds himself straightening his spine, he's faced worse than a conversation with a werewolf and a banshee, he _can_ do this. Though he's not sure if he should be treating this as a battlefield or the negotiation table; it would help if he knew _what_ the two of them wanted, he has guesses –_"She'll be disappointed she missed out"– _but guesses mean nothing in the face of real people.

So he's more nervous than he's been in a good long while as they enter the restaurant.

Well if he wanted distractions the interior of the place wouldn't fail to provide them: whomever had chosen the decorations couldn't seem to decide if this was a British tea house or an Indian restaurant and just went with both. Only humans could create something this chaotic and have it work.

The place looks practically empty as the host approaches them. "How many?"

Lydia smiles. "We're here to meet someone, Hale?"

The man nods. "Right this way." He leads them to a tucked away corner table next to a window overlooking a garden. The host says something about being right back, not that Jordan's paying much attention to him, more focused on Peter –and feeling grateful that the table's round.

He and Lydia sit; Lydia a little closer to Peter, who leans towards her and lays a brief kiss on her cheek. "I see you managed to succeed."

Jordan doesn't know if he should be embarrassed by that or not; the host returns with menus and waters, rattles off some specials, and asks if they want to get anything started. Lydia and Peter both order pots of Assam tea, Jordan defers. Then they're alone again.

If there's something to be started among the three of them, none of them are making moves to be the starter. Point in fact, Jordan doesn't think he's ever felt so awkward in all his life. He might not be running, but he reasons that since they're the ones who wanted him there, they should be the ones to start this. . .conversation. So instead he picks up his menu and looks it over; only vaguely surprised the clash of English and Indian is continued with the food selection.

The awkward mood is so apparent that even the host, though Jordan guesses he's also the waiter, notices when he returns with two pots of tea and tea cups. They order food; Lydia surprises him by ordering the most, but then he does a little thinking: if she went to Stiles', then the department, then Eichen, then the department again she probably didn't have dinner and. . .he finds himself growing a little angry at the fact she probably hasn't eaten since yesterday afternoon.

Even after they're alone again they don't speak. Lydia pulls her strainer out and sets it aside before pouring her tea, Peter just pours his tea –and it's strangely amusing to see Peter holding a china tea cup.

Finally it's getting so bad that Jordan can't stand it anymore. "I thought you two wanted me here for a reason."

Peter and Lydia share a glance before they both look at him. Lydia speaks first. "Yes, though there isn't exactly an easy way of saying this.

"Then just say it sweetheart," Peter says, taking the words right out of Jordan's mouth.

Lydia turns her head to glare at Peter, "_not helping_," she mutters, but Peter looks unapologetic. But then she sighs and turns her attention back of him. "Look, Jordan I. . ." she drifts off, but takes a sip of her tea to cover it. "I like you, and I want to explore that. I want to see what happens." Her cheeks pinken a little and she looks away.

And while normally this wouldn't be the sort of question he'd ask, but this isn't normal by a long shot, he turns to Peter, "and you're okay with this?" It's probably a little rude for him to ask Peter that, but Peter's the one already dating her and Jordan knows he's here for a reason.

"Enough," Peter shrugs. "On the whole I find it questionable, but then again I've been known to make questionable decisions and my interest has been roused enough that I wouldn't mind trying a few things with you myself."

Jordan nearly draws up a glamour to try and hide his blush at that, thanks to memories of last night. But at least now some of Peter's words from earlier make sense.

So the both of them then, with him, and each other. While he was fine thinking about it in the abstract the other day, now in the reality he's unsure. "Can, can I think about it for a little while?"

Peter looks unconcerned as he shrugs, but Lydia's clearly crestfallen, still she nods.

Luckily distraction comes by way of their food arriving. He tears into his hash without a second thought. His brain feels like it's turning into a briar patch, every thought is sharp and pointed, and tends to get you when you're least expecting it.

Outside of the oddity of her being in a relationship with a werewolf already, he and Lydia might work. He wouldn't be the first knight to have feelings for a lady above his station. She needs someone who will stand behind her and with her; she's already bared her soul to him, and while he has yet to do the same he thinks he _could_.

And well, the two of them are immortal. Peter isn't, though he might last longer than most humans, regardless of whatever resurrection trick he has. They'll be standing together long after Peter's bones and dust. So yes, maybe starting things with her would be best for the both of them.

Which brought him around to Peter. Peter whom no one seems to trust, or like, or even tolerate really; or at least anyone outside of Derek and Lydia, though Derek was family and Lydia couldn't really be considered objective.

Not that he could throw stones really.

Overall Lydia being in a relationship with Peter doesn't bother him. For the most part many fae were only monogamous in the long term –though there were outliers– on the whole remaining with the same person, but splitting apart every few centuries and leading their own lives for some time before drifting back together again; only to repeat the process.

As a system it worked well, finding your own way for a time had a habit of making your relationships better overall and from what he'd seen it made those involved happier in the long run.

But he and Lydia didn't exactly know each other well enough that her seeing someone else would be considered 'taking a break' and. . .he took another bite of hash. And he was starting to wish he'd paid more attention to the polyamorous relationships he'd seen in the courts, maybe then he'd have an idea of how to proceed.

Though it could be he's over thinking it: Peter after all had only said he wanted to try things with Jordan, which hardly implied to Jordan a relationship deeper than physical; not that he didn't think Lydia _didn't_ want a physical relationship, but her own expression of interested had insinuated more than that.

It'd been so long since Jordan had had either though that he felt a little afraid of agreeing, he didn't doubt that he would pick up the steps again soon enough; he just rarely showed himself so fully that his few relationships grew past the first few stages.

So, to say yes or say no?

The temptation to leave is growing stronger and he does his best to shake it off, it might help center him but it would definitely decide things and he doesn't want to start things off on the wrong foot. A tree would be nice though.

Doing his best to hold back a sigh he eats some more.

Despite the path his thoughts are taking he still hasn't asked himself the question he's been avoiding: what did _he_ want?

He turns to look out the window. Which is part of the problem he _didn't_ _know_ what he wanted. For the past eighteen years he'd been searching for Lydia, but now that he's found her? He has no idea what to do.

There wouldn't be any pleasure in returning to the holding pattern he'd been in the thirty years prior, and taking a new path felt daunting.

On the other hand he _did_ like Lydia, and there could be something with Peter if he tried. So why not agree?

All of this made him start to wish his sister was still alive; she'd never held back, even for him, and he could use her forceful presence right about now. He'd just have to muddle along as best he could alone.

So besides a general air of wanting to say no because he didn't want to commit to anything, did he have any _actual _reason to say no?

There's a sliver of him that _does_ want this, wants to give in to touch and trust again; the rest of him he thinks might finally be falling prey to the age old enemy of all immortals: apathy.

Maybe a potentially complicated relationship would be just what he needed to combat it. With the end of the deadpool having just happened, he didn't see a better time to start; and maybe this time they'd have more than two month's breathing room before the next crisis hit.

He finishes his bite and clears his throat.

Peter and Lydia both turn to him, expectant.

"I," He takes a deep breath, sort of wishing they were in the garden below, at least then he'd have something to center himself. "I think I would be willing to try."

000

Peter will gladly admit, in the privacy of his own mind, that Jordan's words surprise him. To be honest he expected more resistance to the idea; then again Jordan clearly knew what he was, and maybe that had to do with it.

The smile Lydia gives could outshine the sun; and yes, Peter's a little jealous –mostly because he doesn't think he'll ever do anything to get that smile himself. "I'd love to say 'you won't regret this', but I can't exactly speak for you."

Which gets a twitch of a smile from Jordan, the sappiness in his scent coming to the fore –from pleasure, or happiness, or maybe amusement? It's a whole new scent-emotion profile he's going to have to learn; some are easy it identify regardless of the person –interest and anger chief among them– but then there are the peculiarities and quirks that belong solely to individuals.

Lydia tosses back the last of her tea, a waste he thinks –the flavors are too rich and biscuity to treat it like it came from a bag, and stands up, walking over to Jordan. "I'm going to kiss you now."

She doesn't even give him a chance to respond, just leans in and plants her lips on his.

Watching them as the kiss deepens is an. . .interesting experience. The lack of jealousy he feels at _that_ stuns him a little, though it might come for the fact that _he _can kiss either if them if he wants too. He doesn't _stop_ paying attention as they continue to kiss, but he finds himself also listening for anyone who might be approaching, he wouldn't want this scene of theirs to be interrupted.

Finally they pull apart, the both of them looking a little flush and breathing rapidly.

It doesn't surprise him when Lydia comes over to him, a little smile on her lips. "Do you want a taste?"

He decides not to quip that he already has, though semen and saliva are generally vastly different, and instead just pulls her in, fingers weaving through her mass of curls. It would probably disgust her if he told her, but he can taste her whole breakfast, and some of Jordan's too, in her mouth; but he likes it, it's real and firmly grounded in the now –and universes better than some exes who tended to use too much mouthwash.

It also means he can elicit unusual responses when he tries to chase a taste –like the assam she'd drunk; Lydia starts when his tongue slides under hers, but she quickly adapts. She looks even more flush when they pull apart, and Peter's not exactly. . .smug about it, but there's an interesting pleasure in knowing he wasn't the only one to get her that way.

Out of curiosity he turns to look at Jordan.

The other man isn't as flushed as before, but he's still breathing heavily, and as Peter inhales he notes that the whole of Jordan's scent is more intense and focused. _How interesting_. He leans in a little towards him. "Shall we complete the set?" There should be a few more minutes before the waiter comes back, and at the very least it seems appropriate.

Jordan surprises him by being the one who closes the gap between them and initiating the kiss. For the most part it's more of the same, breakfast with a hint of Lydia, but there's an unusual hint of green to him, one that vaguely reminds Peter of cut grass. He's a little shameless in chasing it, wanting to see what more he can get from it, but from the sounds Jordan, and distantly Lydia, are making the other man hardly minds.

Footsteps approaching intrude on his exploration however and Peter pulls away, composing himself as best he can, and reaching for the last of _his _tea.

When the waiter arrives it's almost as if nothing's happened and the man blithely collects their plates. "I'll be right back with the check."

_Ah, well_. . .while he plans on getting his money back sooner rather than later he's a little broke at the moment, and he's fairly certain Lydia's in about the same boat. Almost as one he and her turn to face Jordan. Who looks confused for a few moments before he rolls his eyes.

"Really? I'm pretty sure I just got taken out on a date and you're expecting _me_ to pay?" But he doesn't sound angry or put off at all, neither does he smell it; and he quickly pulls out a wallet.

000

When Lydia gets home she feels like she's practically walking on air. There are some things she'd prefer to change about the past 24 hours, but everything since she'd woken up? No, she wouldn't change them at all.

Prada yaps at her as she heads into the kitchen, and with an indulgent smile she lets him out; it's nice enough out that she doesn't bother shutting the back door, just leaves it open letting in some of the cool breeze.

She hums to herself as she goes into the living room; she's got school work that she needs to do, but it can wait for now. Turning on the stereo she hooks up her phone and starts blasting Pandora. As she shimmies along to the music she wishes she could call Danny and tell him the good news, but he's still in school, and really he only knows half the story. Though that can't really pull her from her good mood.

In fact. . .glancing at the clock she feels a small measure of relief it's only a few minutes after noon. Taking her phone off she turned off the stereo then went and closed the back door. Slipping off her shoes she padded up to her room, making sure to close the door behind her.

Setting an alarm on her phone for two she sets it on her vanity as she steps towards her bed, that done she reaches under her skirt and tugs down her underwear. She falls onto her bed, staring up at her ceiling for a few moments before closing her eyes and moving her hands to rest gently on her stomach; she slides them under her loose top and gently strokes her way up to her breasts.

_Four hands brushing and teasing, taking their time with her as they blindfold and bind her_. She squirms at the thought, part of her insisting that she jump ahead; but she resists, shifting her hands higher so they just brush the underside of her bra. Arching up a little her hands move under her to unhook it, and she finds herself congratulating herself on going strapless yesterday.

Bra now gone the fabric of her top taunts her nipples and she shivers. Her hands return to her front, thumbs stroking the undersides of her breasts as she hums a bit of a song she'd just heard. When she stops humming her hands shift up to cup them firmly, pointer fingers flicking across her nipples. _Peter, or maybe now _Jordan_ lavishing her breasts with attention as she's helpless to stop it_.

A soft moan escapes her and she pinches her nipples sharply, sending wonderful flashes of pleasurepain through her. One hand continues it's assault while the other drifts downwards again, stopping to stroke her belly in a faux-soothing manner, _which has Peter written all over it she can picture his smug grin as he does it, breaking his appearance of a conciliatory lover._

She takes that hand off her skin completely as she starts to spread her legs as wide as they'll go. It's a little awkward but she shifts her hand still on her breast to the other one, resuming action there, while her free hand presses down on her skirt, pressing down the fabric to tease her clit.

"Yeesss," she hisses, as she incrementally begins hiking up her skirt. By the time she's uncovered she can't take it anymore, she briefly rubs her middle finger over her clit, enjoying the shockwave of sensation, before thrusting it and a second finger inside her, arching off the bed again and letting out a quiet cry.

At first she tries to keep her movements slow, in part to keep up with the fantasy coalescing in her mind, but she too quickly gives into her body's demands; adding a third finger and pumping them in and out as quickly as she can.

She orgasms with a sigh, and lets herself go limp breathing heavily.

Moments later she starts again, intent on enjoying herself for as long as possible.

...

By the time her alarm goes off she's orgasmed three times. On shaky legs she goes over to her vanity and turns her alarm off, then hobbles off to the bathroom to clean up.

When she gets out her gaze passes her window, frowning a little when she notices the bank of storm clouds coming in as she pulls on her bra and underwear. Hopefully the bad weather won't last too long.

The slam of the front door pulls her out of her thoughts and she heads downstairs to say hi to her mother.

...

After dinner she finally starts to peck away at her homework, though she's not sure if studying really qualifies as homework, but considering the history test tomorrow, it's necessary.

Two hours later, she sits upright with a groan. Stretching she gets up and decides to get herself a cup of chamomile.

Down in the kitchen she starts the electric kettle and reaches up to grab the right bag of tea, lowering herself she–

00000

Next week: Well, there's Derek, and Lydia tells Peter some things, and sex.

Oh look, my very first cliff-hanger too!


End file.
